


Quarter Life

by Sardonic_Grin



Series: Songs to Commit Murder To [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020), Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Cherry Soda Boy Universe, Drug Use, M/M, Multi, New York City, Recreational Drug Use, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28778910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sardonic_Grin/pseuds/Sardonic_Grin
Summary: [AU] [Sequel]  A phone call from the past force Cloud and Reno to revisit the darkest parts of their relationship as they enter a new chapter in their lives. Follow them and their friends as they navigate the minefield known as "a quarter life crisis."
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough/Tseng, Reno/Cloud Strife, Tifa Lockhart/Rude
Series: Songs to Commit Murder To [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141169
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	1. Now Playing: No Shows

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to "Cherry Soda Boy" but if you don't want to read all 41 chapters, this story can perhaps stand on its own. To anyone who read the original: THANK YOU. Because of you, I had inspiration to keep this story going. Hope you enjoy this next chapter in their story. 
> 
> P.S: The theme song to this story is "Great Party" by Frank Iero  
> The theme song to this chapter is "No Shows" by Gerard Way.

It was a phone call that closed out this tumultuous, decade long, chapter of our life. And maybe it was something we should have expected. The noose hanging in the corner. Just shy of the shadows that crept along the edges of every apartment lease we signed. Always lurking at the end of an argument like ghosts from the past we never could shed. And maybe it was poetic the way it showed up. Just as the foundation where we planted uneasy footing finally seemed to settle, where the path we fought to find became clear, the devils dared to reach out. 

The day started as any normal Saturday.

A hand slapping my face josseled me awake- followed by a grunt and a  _ will you stop snoring, fuck _ . The pleasant morning song I’ve grown accustomed to hearing. My eyes fluttered, trying to focus, with the muted morning light trying to break through pitch black curtains. The hand that had been used to scold now rested on my inked chest. As still as a corpse. I placed my own hand over his to silently forgive him for being a little bitch who still isn’t used to the so-called “new snoring” that’s been a sour note on our relationship for the last three years. He mumbled something again but it’s drowned by the call of disturbed morning slumber. One I had hoped to return to after stealing a look at the man next to me. 

Hair still the color of cherries. 

Once dyed to hide the connection to his forgotten family. Now to hide the greys he swears don’t exist. 

He certainly aged since sixteen. When I first laid post-drunk eyes on him in a dusty auditorium. But still the same high cheekbones, pinched almond eyes currently closed and hiding the turquoise blues probably red with lack of sleep. Lips only slightly parted. And if my own eyes weren’t heavy with exhaustion, I would have scooted closer to taste him. 

And just as I felt the claws of restless slumber wrap around my foggy head. 

A rough, sloppy, tongue attacked my face. 

I sputtered, “Fenrir, stop!” 

The grey pit bull jumped on top of me, large paws now over my lungs, chasing Reno to the other side of the queen size bed with another growl. Leaving me to be assaulted by our only child. 

“Alright, alright, I’m up, Fen.” I pushed his face away to halt his attack. And as was tradition, he hopped off the bed and jogged to the door. Waiting for me to cater to his every need.

Saturday morning. 7 am. And I took a moment to silently mourn my youth, when my conscious body wouldn’t grace the world until 2 pm. 

After several exasperated sighs, I pushed myself off the memory foam mattress to the chorus of all my bones breaking. For some reason my back decided it wanted to hurt. And I tried to chalk it up to the position Reno and I worked through last night, and not a tense reminder that the best years of my life are in the rearview mirror. Reno tells me constantly to stop being dramatic about turning twenty-nine. That he has even less time before there’s a three in front of his age. But it’s hard to be positive when I can feel myself rot on from the inside. 

I threw on a pair of black basketball shorts and the Killswitch Engage long sleeve I bought during their  _ Incarnate _ tour. The May weather, often unsure of her temperature, leaving me to try to please her as best I could. Fenrir circled around the door, his tiny nails scraping up the floor with little dings. His tongue hanging out as he watched me leave the comfort of our bedroom, down the short hall- decorated with pictures and artifacts from mine and Reno’s over a decade long relationship- to the open concept living room/ kitchen combo. The excitement twitched a sleepy smile across my face-

Which immediately died when I opened the fridge to try to get something in my system before the hour walk around Park Slope. 

I stared into the abyss. 

The abyss, in the form of empty shelves, some expired deli turkey, and a slew of half empty condiments, stared back. 

I forgot to go grocery shopping after work yesterday- I closed my eyes-  _ Again.  _

And the only reason I was spared a lecture from the still sleeping red-head was the impromptu dinner and drinks with his cousin distracted him long enough he didn’t need to even look at the rumbling appliance before this morning. 

I looked at my son, sitting there in the kitchen patiently. “Your father’s gonna murder me.” He whined, looking down as if questioning where his food would be. “Don’t worry, you have plenty.” I sighed. Felt the tension in my jaw and tried to shake it off. I could criticize my inability to be a functioning adult another time; Fen needed to use the world as his rest room. 

“We’ll get him a bacon, egg, and cheese from the deli, so he’ll bitch about his weight for three hours. That’ll distract him.”

I got a bark in response and I wondered if he could actually understand me. 

Park Slope bustled to life as I exited our apartment building on 23rd Street. The overachievers already enjoying the late Spring day, jogging down the sidewalk, going for strolls with their bubbling brats, or taking their much smaller pups for their morning walks. All humans swerving with dramatic yelps around the smiling pitbull secured on his leash. As if they never saw a sixty pound dog before. And I mumbled apologies to Fen, who knows better than to even acknowledge the humans around him. Dedicated to his mission of finding his designated spot to do his business. The horns from angry drivers crescendo over the metal music blaring in my ears. The best hits from the mid-2000s, because unlike my body, my music taste didn’t seem to age. 

There was a sense of peace as we navigated through the thickening crowds. Walking along the sidewalk, past the plethora of businesses shouldering red and brown brick apartments. I noted our usual deli which we will make a U-turn on our way back, the Two Boots Pizza where we often spent Sunday afternoons grabbing a couple of slices after a night of drinking with the group, the closed bars we’ve become regulars at since we moved to this area in 2016. 

It’s times like these, with the sun beating against the clouds and the warm breeze with enough chill to make a long sleeve bearable, I could find myself appreciating that my second suicide attempt didn’t go according to plan either. 

And despite the long, arduous road my twenties took, I would be entering my thirties next year with a full time job as an English teacher, living in Brooklyn with my boyfriend of thirteen years and the dog we always wanted. The plans we made at sixteen, at the time seemed like foolish adolescence dreams, were finally coming together. 

My phone vibrated just as Fenrir found his spot to do his business. 

And I knew the person on the other end of that text before I unlocked my phone.

**From Red Robin.**

**Forget to do something?**

I could almost see him. Finally rolling out of bed, dressed only in boxers. Stumble to the empty fridge, let his eyes adjust to the artificial brightness, and lament his decision to move back in with me. 

I looked at Fen, “Dad’s pissed.” But Fen just growled- he doesn’t like being stared at while he takes a shit, and I can’t exactly blame him. I pocketed the device without the text back. The question was rhetorical. 

I hoped that a cheat meal would smooth things over. Maybe a distraction in the form of a joint shower where my hands could explore every inch of his exposed body until he forgives me for my transgression and agrees to do the grocery shopping from now on. I would whisper promises in his ear I’ll break of no fault of my own. And he’ll accept my hundredth apology, because we know there’s worse things than forgetting to get groceries. Or forgetting to fill up the tank. Or forgetting to return his phone call. 

I remembered to clean up after Fen, however. Don’t need angry gentrifiers on my case. Fen doesn’t pull or yank to show his impatience. He’s done, we’re on his time, and it’s time for a bowl of water, breakfast, and some discarded bacon I’ll sneak him when the stricter parent wouldn’t be watching. 

I lit a cigarette as we took the long way home. The burn of chemicals grazing my throat tasting extra sweet. “Don’t tell your father,” I told the dog as the smoke mingled with the breeze; mixing with the smell of exhaust and trash. “You know how he gets when I smoke.” 

A fruitless fib. Reno knows I still desire the taste of nicotine and will indulge in my vice during the early morning walks. He’ll give me a long look when we return, but bite his tongue. I know lying in a relationship feels wrong-

Over the course of the last thirteen years, we’ve shed many layers of our guard. Revealed the ugly flaws which laid beneath. But there’s some lines we refused to cross. And when our therapist forced us to look at each other- that last time- and mentioned the family he lost…

I watched his features darken. His eyes shattered as he tried to rebuild that broken guard

I decided some secrets are better kept. 

I kept my nicotine addiction so he wouldn’t need to tell me every terrible truth. At the time, it felt like a fair deal…

Not sure how I feel now. 

We made the stop at the deli, after I flicked my half smoked menthol into the sewer. Juan at the deli counter greets me like every Saturday. “Where’s your better half! You know I like him better.” He laughed. Already preparing the two sandwiches without needing a formal order. Mohammad, the clerk, already punching in numbers on the register, then taking a break to walk around the counter and giving Fenrir rough pets while singing his praises in Arabic. And I swear Fenrir understands him more than he does me. 

“Hello, my friend,” he acknowledged without taking his eyes off Fenrir, “I got your brand.”

“Fuck, man,” I grumbled, “Don’t tempt me. I’m tryin’ to quit.”

“My cousin gets them in Florida! I give you a deal, come on!” He pushed with a smile. “I won’t tell the red-headed guy. Six dollars, come one.”

I pretended to have an ounce of willpower. Let him sweat it out until Juan came over with our sandwiches before I bought two packs for the price of one. Guilt. I could feel it well in the pit of my stomach. Even Fenrir looked disappointed. But I’m an adult. I’m allowed my vices. 

Bad habits and greasy suspicious food acquired, we walked back to our apartment on the corner of 5th and 23rd street. A red brick building standing three stories towards the sky and hugged by a brown fire escape. Inside the chilled common area smelled like polish and bleach. Newly renovated, they claimed when we saw the place. Which was how they justified the nearly twenty five hundred dollars a month in rent for a two bedroom on the third floor. I open the black metal mailbox with our last names: Strife and

Nox.

I thought, like I thought every time I saw that name, how easily he could have had mine. 

But I try not to be sentimental about that shit--another boundary I promised not to cross. 

I shook the thought, grabbed the mail I forgot to pick up yesterday. Like the groceries. 

Fenrir dragged his ass up the stairs with a whine; as usual, wanting me to pick him up like I used to when he was a puppy. And we run into Squall who lives in 201, directly below us, leaning against the wall with a vacant look on his face. 

“Hey man,” he sighed. The hitch in his tone suggested turmoil in his life- which was nothing new nor interesting. 

“Rinoa giving you shit again?” 

“Her mother is visiting... _ again _ .”

“What’s with straight people and hating their significant other’s mother,” I mused. 

“She’s asking me a million questions,” he retorted. 

“ _ How dare she _ …”

“You’re lucky, you don’t have to deal with that crap.”

“Uh, lucky isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” I cringed. But Squall Lionheart didn’t catch on and just shook his head. His wispy brown locks rippled like waves of cinnamon. Him and his girlfriend predated us in the building. He’s retired from the military. Silent for the most part about his past, and currently working in IT. Which he’s equally silent about. We’ve bonded over our mutual hatred of small talk that our partners seemed to excel in. And it seemed like anything we knew about each other spilled from the mouths of others. But that was fine. He played a mean game of pool and enjoyed alternative rock. 

“We’re probably gettin’ the guys together tonight,” I offered a means of escape, “in case you can sneak out for a minute.”

He toiled the life saver. “I’ll try, man. They want me to take them on a tour of Brooklyn. Then brunch in the city tomorrow.”

“Sounds fucking terrible,” I shrugged, “just come up if you need a break.”

Our usual Saturday exchange, completed. And I was about to trudge up the last set of stairs despite my protesting muscles, grumble about how our next place needs an elevator because I’m getting too old for this shit, when Squall flipped the script on me:

“Hey man,” he called for me, and I turned with an arch brow, “can I ask you something?”

I hated when people wasted my time asking me permission to ask a question. And Fen’s grimace echoed my displeasure. “What?”

His cheeks flushed with a soft red hue “What the fuck do you two do to each other up there?”

I registered his question. Blinked a few times and tried to keep Fen from pulling my arm up the stairs- the poor kid confused as to why we have altered our routine. And I hate answering a question with another question, but the uneasy way he’s shifting on his feet, doesn’t immediately give me a hint. “I’m sorry what?”

“We can hear you two from down here!” He exclaimed. 

And it clicked, “Bullshit, bro.”

“She said I never made her scream like that- she wants to know what you’re doing!”

“W-What?” I stuttered. Last night crept back to the forefront. Noted how it was pretty difficult to make enough noise when Reno had his hand around my throat as he... “You know what we do!” I shouted instead. Hoping the outburst would bring him back to reality. We don’t do  _ this _ . Never have. Reno and Rinoa could get into detail about our freaky-ass sex life, and their painfully vanilla one, but not us. And I still can’t wrap my head around why these people are so obsessed with my personal life. But Squall had a flash of desperation in his usual stone eyes. And so I sighed, “Is she gonna do anal with you any time soon.”

An eye roll of a response, “I’ve been barkin’ up that tree for six years.”

“You gonna let her peg you?”

“Ew, fuck no! That’s...” He stood up straight, and then as if the dawn of realization rose over him, he slouched.

“Aight, that’s all I really got for you.” 

I could have mentioned the choking. Or the being tied to the bed. Or the one time we introduced a third party- then again, that ended bad when the third party got too handsy and I remembered the jealously issue I have which, yeah, fuck it ain’t cute. But Reno had seemed more turned on with my whole nearly volatile display. Which brought me to  _ consider _ mentioning the role playing to keep shit interesting. And the being as rough as possible- but…

That wasn’t anybodies fuckin’ business. Literally. 

So, I once again offered him a weak shrug and tried to make my escape upstairs.

“Wait…” he called out and I cursed under my breath with one more tense look, “does anal...hurt?”

This fuckin’ guy. “I’ll see you later, Squall.”

And left him to sulk in the hideous brown hallway which smelled of Spanish food and bleach and polish- and tried to forget that entire awkward, unscripted, display of fragile masculinity. 

Maybe that should have been foreshadowing for how derailed this day became. 

We entered the apartment. Fen sprinting to his water bowl and me throwing the food and mail on the kitchen island. The shower hummed to a close as I took my seat and shifted through the usual suspects. Student loans for both of us. Credit card offers for Reno which I tossed to the side. Coupons to clothing stores I tried to hide for myself….

And another fuckin’ “Save the Date.” 

I groaned.

“That good, huh?” Reno emerged from the bedroom wearing black Adidas sweats. Hair still wet as he pulled a white shirt over his slim form, covering up the artwork I left last night. He placed the glasses he swears he doesn’t need on the bridge of his nose as he takes his spot across from me on the island. 

“Guess who’s gettin’ married now,” I slid the card over. 

He snatched it, examining the contents before laughing, “Fuckin Noctis and Prompto, are they fuckin’ serious?”

“Apparently,” I pulled out the bounty from the deli bag as he rolled his eyes and went to place the card from my college roommate with the rest of them on the fridge. “We now have three weddings this year, and two next year.” I added. 

“The gays are gettin’ married at an  _ alarming  _ rate, yo,” he observed, scanning the other invitations. Noctis and Prompto, together for less than three years, joined Lightning and her fiance, Fang, and Zack- yes  _ that  _ Zack- and Kunsel, as the three of five couples rushing to seal their faith forever. And those announcements paired with the family Christmas photos, the outside of our fridge seemed fuller than the inside…

“Yeah.” I responded flatly, trying to even my tone which threatened to cut. “I told you when that piece of shit entered the White House, our community would start to worry. They’re actually considering getting rid of marriage equality.”

I spied on him from behind my overgrown hair. I watched his jaw clenched as he plunged his hands into the pockets of his pants. As he too tried to hold back the words that threatened to fall. An old fight. One we are reminded of every time an engagement announcement splattered on Facebook. Or another invitation to a half-friend’s wedding. Every time we sit in a crowd of people, watching an archaic tradition unfold before us…

Reno didn’t engage with my obviously tight tone. Instead strolled back to his spot, dropping two...obnoxious orange bottles in front of me.

“You forgot again,” he said. 

I stared at the pills resting in their cave like undisturbed ancient rocks. “They say take with food.” Weak argument-

He looked at the refrigerator, then back at me, “Seems we have a conundrum.”

“You gonna give me shit?” I bit. He narrowed his gaze, slowly picking at the wrapping of his sandwich. I felt flustered under the crushing judgement of his look. The disappointment crossed with frustration. And I dropped my own eyes, “Sorry.”

“It’s cool,” he lied, softening his voice and redirecting his attention to his food. “I’ll go out later and get shit.” He poked through the contents of the sandwich. “This shit greasy as fuck.”

“That’s what makes it good.” I realized my shoulders were tense. I push forth a smile as he treats his breakfast like a science experiment. 

“It’s gonna make me break out,” he grumbled, rubbing his clear, freshly shaven face, “I swear, you’re trying to ruin my body so no one hits on me.”

“God, babe, what happened to you?” I laughed. “You used to snort coke off my dick at B-Bar. Now you’re bitchin’ about a baconeggandcheese?”

“Fuck,” he smirked, “I remember that shit.”

“Yeah, you used to be cool.”

“Bitch, I’m still cool.” He pulled out a piece of glistening bacon and threw it at Fen, “I’ll do coke right now if you give me three hundred dollars.”

“I’m on a teacher’s salary, mister Vice President of Program Management. I don’t got three-hundred dollars- or the desire to deal with your come down.”

“Remember the time I almost knocked out Highwind for wasting the last line of coke?” He recalled with his lips curved like a sinister jester. “Oh! And remember that time we did molly at that fucking shady ass rave?”

“Which time?” I retorted.

“The warehouse near the Manhattan Bridge, I think. There was the guy wrapped in a blanket begging people to step on him.”

“Oh, right. We stepped on his dick and he came.” I chuckled, “Then we fucked in the-”

“We fucked twice. In the bathroom, and then like next to a dumpster.”

“Ah, the good ol’ days.” I flashed him a flirty smile, which he returned with that twinkle in his eye. “Speakin of fucking…”

“My favorite subject-” 

“Squall from downstairs asked about anal.”

A raucous laughter from the red-head. “Does he want a demonstration?” He sauntered around the island with his eyes fixated on me like I’m prey. And I rolled my eyes when he wrapped his arms around my shoulders. Shivered when his lips grazed my ears. “We could let him watch. Maybe he’ll pick up some pointers.”

“I swear, you wanna fuck that guy,” I joked. 

“Psh,” he said as he kissed the side of my head. “He sucks in bed, why would I waste my time?” he ran his hands down my shirt. “Besides, I have you...so?”

“Damn, you are constantly horny.” I shot him a faux glare. But he used the moment to capture my lips. 

“You called me out. I gotta remind you how  _ cool _ I am, pretty boy.” He nipped the bottom of my lip. And I considered abandoning breakfast and giving Squall another reason to be jealous. 

Which would have brought us back to the original script. The normal Saturday morning banter: recalling the errors of our youth with kaleidoscope eyes until we fell back into the bed so I could sing a chorus of his name. And covered in sweat, eat cold sandwiches in bed.  _ The Office _ on the T.V. Giving weekday responsibilities pause to lay in a cloud comforters and pillows- like the rest of the world no longer existed-

But instead, 

His work phone rang.

And back to reality.

He dug through his pocket with a grunt and I rolled my eyes as he untangled himself from me. “I thought we agreed, no work on the weekends.”

Reno pulled out the Iphone, “It could be important-”

“ _ Reno _ …”

“Okay okay,” he said playfully, “Just gimme a minute. Promise.” He swiped his phone and put on his professional voice, clearing his throat as if to bury his accent. “This is Reno at Shinra Technologies.”

I went to mumble a disparaging comment about his employer-

As I would.

But the voice at the other end, small and cautious, stuttered out a name.

“Is this Reno...Sinclair?”

And I felt the world give way the moment my partner’s face dropped. 

The moment a name he abandoned shot through his head like a bullet. His eyes narrowed. Lips fall to a thin straight line. Shoulders up. Jaw clenched. I could hear the sharpness in his breath. And when he opened his mouth, he replaced all pleasantries with that dangerous edge- words like a machete. 

“Who the fuck is askin?” 

“It’s Phoenix...your brother…”


	2. Now Playing: I, Dementia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I am dementia in your mind  
>  Creator of decisions, violent visions and lies  
> Blind, blind, your eyes forever blind  
> Reality is dead by your force fed demise_
> 
> "I, Dementia" by Whitechapel.

Reno took the call in another room. And I resisted the knee-jerk reaction that slapped me across the face, to rush to the door and try to listen. He deserved his privacy.

Not everything was a  _ fucking _ plot against me; I waged war against my own head.

But the tension wasn't quelled when he emerged from our bedroom, now in the matching black hoody that seemed to make his fire of hair brighter, with nothing to report except a simple:  _ I’m going for a walk _ . And before I could ask the obvious, he grabbed the keys off the key ring and slammed the door behind him. 

And Fenrir’s whine as he sat in front of the door, wondering why dad said  _ walk _ and didn’t think to bring him, echoed my own anxiety. And I looked at our sandwiches, now cold for all the wrong reasons, and tried to find the answers to my unasked questions in seeded bread rolls. 

I tried to busy myself. 

Rationalized that Reno needed time. 

And he wasn’t obligated to share every little bit about himself- despite all the silent implications that phone call revealed. And my curiosity...whittled around my brain like the serpent…

So, I gnawed on my bottom lip while playing the seven string electric guitar Reno got me for Christmas- the same type Alex Wade of  _ Whitechapel  _ used.. Moving my fingers frantically up and down the neck, feeling the squeal loosen the tension in my chest. I practiced “I, Dementia”. The song felt fitting. As the seed planted before began to sprout as I botched the intro for the fifteenth time and nearly slammed the guitar against the coffee table-

I moved on to video games. Put on  _ Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare _ which I hadn’t had much time to practice due to the demanding nature of my job- so the fifth sixteen year old to get a headshot on me sent the controller across the room with a loud  _ fuck _ and my poor dog sprinting from the couch to hide.

And Reno still hadn’t come back. 

I considered calling him but I remembered what my therapist told me--that I’m calling him to satisfy my own needs and not his. And if he wanted to talk he would come home. 

I called Noctis, staring at his “Save the Date” as he rattled off details about the upcoming wedding. He and Prompto, the small blonde he met at a club three years ago, standing on the Brooklyn bridge. Hands clasped. Staring into each other's adoring eyes. And I note the fucking ridiculousness of the whole image. 

Noctis is from Chicago. 

Prompto from Wisconsin. 

And they met in fuckin’ New Orleans. 

“I like it,” I lied like a piece of shit, “it captures you two perfectly.”

“You’re so full of shit, Cloud,” he responded, “It was Prompto’s idea- the whole thing.”

“Don’t pretend you aren’t excited about all this garbage.”

“Heh, speaking of garbage, I gotta ask you something-”

_ Son of a bitch _ , I gritted my teeth. “Yeah?”

“I want to ask you to be a groomsman.”

I screamed violently in my head, but forced a smile, “Seriously? Do you, like, not have friends or something?”

“Ha. Ha. Asshole. Gladio, Iggy, and Lightning are going to be in the wedding party, too, so you’re in good company.”

Five weddings. Five weddings on my fridge. I’m now in  _ three _ of them. “So where are you thinkin for the bachelor party?”

“We’re thinking of doing a joint one in New Orleans.”

“Makes sense…”

“So you’re in then?”

I sighed, “Yeah, of course. How do I say no to you, bro?”

“Uh... _ no? _ ” I could hear the roll of his Bushwick eyes from Park Slope, “But I appreciate it. Lightning is excited. She’s already planning the whole trip.”

“Really? Doesn’t she have her own wedding to plan?”

“She’s done!” he chuckled, “You know her. All business, all the time. We should be getting the formal invites any day now, she said.”

“Boston Public Library in August,” I mumbled, “It’s going to hot as fuck.”

“Did you get your tux yet? She was asking.”

“Fuck me in the ass-” 

“- _ That’s Reno’s job. _ ”

“I keep forgetting to do that shit.” I groaned. 

“Cloud, seriously? All you have to do is send your measurements to the app and they mail you a suit. It’s the simplest thing.”

He’s wasn’t trying to be an asshole

I reminded myself.

It was simple. 

Like going grocery shopping. And taking medication-

Which I forgot,  _ again _ , in the chaos that phone call caused. 

I pinched the bridge of my nose to quell the brewing headache, “I know, I  _ know _ . I got a lot going on with work. I have another formative assessment coming up with my A.P and I just been putting all my focus on that. I’ll tell Reno to remind me to do it. He’ll get on my ass about it until it’s done. I promise.”

“Hey, man, I don’t care,” Noctis lightened his tone, “Lightning’s the one you should be afraid of.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll call her later.” I grabbed the notepad on the island and wrote a reminder to myself.

“Please tell me you booked the hotel for their shower in June,” Noctis sighed, “And you got your tickets for Miami in July.”

“Miami was booked as soon as we settled on that,” I huffed, “Reno was all over that shit, trust me. I think he’s more excited to go than I am.”

“It’ll be fun, Cloud...all of us together again. We haven’t been in the same place since we graduated.”

Nostalgia. I hated how these people clung to it like it was the only thing left to get them up in the morning. But he was right. Our group hasn't shared the same air in seven years. We went from living together to being awkward friends on facebook- watching their lives develop through a screen. Noctis and I kept the most in touch after he followed me from UMass Amherst to Brooklyn. But Claire, aka “Lightning” , my rock during four tumultuous years, remained in Massachusetts, Terra moved back to California, Cecil has been jumping abroad since graduation, and Yuna moved in with her annoying boyfriend and popped out a few kids. The first in the group to get married. And her wedding the last time we all sat at the same table and broke bread. 

So...yeah, I guessed I was looking forward to getting into trouble in Miami. And watching Lightning have her happily ever after. And Noctis after. Cecil promised to bring me wares from Germany, where he lived for almost three months again, and Terra has a new man in her life she wants us to judge profusely. And Yuna wasn’t bringing Tidus to Miami, which meant we would get the full, uncensored, pre-K teacher in all her glory. 

“Yeah, I know,” I agreed, and this time my smile didn’t feel so hard to maintain, “I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

There was a long pause at the other end. “You okay, dude?”

I tapped my nails against the marble island, considering if I should tell him. But it wouldn’t be right...not Noctis. He knew Reno as a Nox. As a faux name. He doesn’t know who Sinclair would be and why someone with that last name reaching out would hold so much weight. “Yeah, I’m good. Just stressed, ya know.”

“Is it... _ it just be like that sometimes _ ?” 

I grinned when he uttered the coded phrase. “Yeah. something like that.”

We made small talk for a few more minutes, catching up on the major events. Made plans to meet up next weekend for brunch, which I immediately wrote down on my pad under  _ get tux _ and  _ take medication, now asshole _ . And for a minute, I forgot about Reno wandering the streets of Brooklyn for his own answers to unasked questions. 

But as soon as I hung up, the seed had become a plant choking the logic from my brain. I stared at my phone, at the background picture of Reno sleeping on the couch with Fenrir in his arms. And how I wanted to get back to that moment quickly. I called him- no answer. Figured. I texted him asking if he was okay and when he was coming back.

Felt like an annoying shit for going against my own advice.

But Fen wasn’t helping as he sat in front of the door waiting for his dad to come home. His whole routine shot the shit now. I grabbed the leash on the island, the jingle alerting the dog who snapped his head towards me with his big black eyes scanning my face for a promise of adventure. 

“Walk, buddy?” 

Two walks before noon. Kid was spoiled rotten. 

I noted as we left, I could have cleaned the apartment, but I’m not that desperate, yet. 

We walked the back alleys so I could chain smoke without the side glares from the other pedestrians; hoping the burn in my throat would set fire to my worries. I hated being this way. It was exhausting. And I know it’s  _ borderline _ out of my control, that my brain unhooks and spirals like frayed nerves, but the knowledge doesn’t make it  _ feel  _ any better- no matter what Reno says. 

Fenrir and I headed to Prospect Park. The cool Spring day called the crowds to the lush green grass. We found a safe spot underneath a tree, further away from people and their other, much tinier, dogs. It always made me feel guilty. Fenrir, the happiest dog I’ve met could instill so much fear due to the misunderstanding of his breed. He, while secured on his leash, nudged his way between my legs thinking he’s still a thirty pound puppy who fits on my lap. He booped me with his nose as I gave him pets, like he knew I was upset and wanted an explanation. 

We got him for this reason. Well, Reno did. He thought getting a pet would reduce the amount of times he came home from work to find me sitting in the shower staring at the tiles or laying on the floor, with the ceiling as my only friend, listing all the reasons I shouldn’t make it to the next minute. Fenrir worked, for the most part. Hard to curl up on the floor when your pet thinks that means play time. And while I’m fine with disappointing myself, I couldn’t bring myself to disappoint him. 

I pet along his shimmering grey coat, ignoring the empty in my chest and silence of my phone. 

“He doesn’t do this often, does he?” I asked the dog. “This is my go to. Leave the house for a few hours to get my head straight. He’s usually more in control of his emotions. I mean, sometimes. And maybe it isn’t exactly control as it is just burying everything that hurts inside of him until he blows up.” I shrugged, “Somethings don’t change, huh, bud?

Fen responded by licking my face. 

“Yeah, I’m being an asshole. He’s gotten better. I mean, he stuck with therapy, that’s fuckin’ huge. I never thought he would be the kinda guy to admit there’s a problem…” My voice trailed off as I fell into a memory I longed to forget, “I guess...he did it because he didn’t have a choice.” Another boop. “I’m not dwelling. Just...wish I was better at helping him. Can’t even help myself half the time.” At this, my dog curled up in my lap awkwardly and rested his eyes while I stroked his fur. I plugged in my headphones and threw on my mid-2000s playlist. And with a long sigh, staring up at the crystal blue sky, I added: 

“He has so many secrets eating him from the inside. It’s only a matter of time now before it causes our ship to sink... _ again _ .”

But Fen only offered me a single snore. 

* * *

We spent a good amount of time at the park, and Fen was beat from all the running. He even got some attention from a cluster of day drunk girls walking back from bottomless brunch. One even started crying when I told her he wasn’t used to so much love from strangers. Two of them asked for my number. I explained that, while flattered, they aren’t my  _ type _ and I had a boyfriend. This elicited a squeal of approval and demand that I join them next weekend.

That’s when it got weird and the blush in my cheeks was hard to ignore. 

When we finally made our escape, Fen protested the walk upstairs. And I am such a fuckin sucker for his big puppy eyes, that I managed to carry him up the three flights of stairs with grunts and curses, and already mourning the absolute destruction of my body as a result. And as soon as I rested his weary paws on the hardwood floor, he jetted towards his food bowl that’s been suspiciously filled. 

I arched a brow. 

I remembered forgetting to fill the bowl when I left. And when I go to the fridge to grab some kind of beverage myself, the abyss has been replaced by haul from Prospect Market, judging from the brown paper bags. 

And I frowned. 

I slunk into our shared bedroom. Small by Massachusetts standards, but large for New York City. Our unmade bed takes up the majority of the space. Enclosed by two nightstands. My side a mess of papers I have to shift through burying my phone charger. His side pristine. A lamp, the remote, and a picture of the two of us from Halloween 2010 when we went as the  _ Sons of Anarchy _ with the rest of the group. A Metallica tapestry on the wall directly behind the bed acting as a mock headboard- one of the few bands we could agree on. Other than that, the walls of our room, a muted beige, are bare with the occasional crack from the previous tenants lack of care. Two dressers fill up the room with our clothes, one for each because if there’s any fault we both have it’s shopping. Some of my guitars tucked in the corner with a stool I use to play. And for some reason, as I stand in our shared space, my sneakers on filthy white carpet, I start thinking about when we lived together in Staten Island; when we were still too young to understand our own relationship. 

I shook the feeling and darted my eyes to the open window and the smell of smoke seeping through the billowing curtains. The aforementioned fire escape started with our apartment giving us a mock balcony to smoke weed from without the worry of the neighbors snitching. And when I poke my head out into the afternoon sun, I spotted Reno, sitting on the metal floor up against the brick wall. Eyes towards the depths of the sky with a cigarette dangling from his lips. 

“Thought you quit?” I remarked.

“Thought you did too,” he retorted before taking the stick from his mouth and blowing black smoke towards the blue ocean above us. 

I stepped over the ledge to join him, taking my usual spot entirely too close to him so our arms could brush against each other. And figuring we’ve given up on pretending, I pull out my own pack and light up despite nearly taking down at least half of one not too long ago.

“Thanks for getting groceries.”

He took a long drag, “Don’t thank me. It’s my place to, yo.”

“Yeah...I know…”

We sat in disturbed silence. It felt like Brooklyn, and all the traffic human and machine, were a million miles away from us. The planes overhead hummed softly, breaking through the wall of tension enveloping the two of us. Questions in the back of my throat begged for release, but I bit them back. Scooted closer when his arm instinctively wrapped around my back. Head on his shoulder. A cooling wind pricking the exposed skin and caressing our hair, as he slithered his fingers under my shirt to fight for warmth. And despite that feeling of vertigo, like I was about to fall from these rafters, I wanted to enjoy this stolen moment of familiarity. 

“I called Rude,” he finally begun after snuffing out his smoke on the railing, “said the kid’s been askin’ about me for a while now.”

I craned my neck to look at him. His jaw clenched and I could see the way his tongue moved behind his closed mouth; something he did when trying to figure out what to say next without showing all his rage. Like putting a lid over boiling water- he’s subdued for now. 

“Did he give him your number?” I asked with caution. 

“Nah. Rude don’t say shit to anyone in that family about me. Apparently Phoenix found a picture of me or something,” he rolled his eyes, “...he’s been asking everyone about me.”

“What did they tell him?”

Silence. The smile that crawled along his face looked bitter. Volatile. “Apparently there’s a whole buncha stories. I got sent abroad to a school for fuckin’ baseball. I was playing in the minors in Japan for a while. Then I went to Puerto Rico- fuckin’  _ Puerto Rico _ . I don’t think that’s how that shit fuckin works.” He shook his head with an acidic chuckle.

“You haven’t played baseball since senior year...” I mumbled absentmindedly.

“Right! What a dumb lie.”

“Sounded like they were tryin’ to make you look good.”

He shook his head, “What were they going to say? Donald wasn’t trying to make himself look bad, right? Can’t say they kicked me out because I’m gay. Can’t make up some shit like I’m a drug addict or a fuckin low life. They still wanted to give everyone the illusion that we’re some happy fuckin family.” I felt his chest tighten. “No one even questioned it...even with how bad that lie was. Everyone just...accepted it. For twelve fuckin’ years.”

He swallowed back his anger. Hard. Like he took a whole shot of whiskey and he’s holding it down from sheer willpower. 

“How did your brother get your number…” I tried to alter the subject. 

“He said he figured Rude and I worked together since he was being dodgy about his job. Found me on the Shinra website and get my work number from there. He was lookin’ for me on social media but I don’t have anything.”

“What was it like...talking to him?”

“I...don’t know…” he mused for several moments. “I thought I made peace with the fact I’d never speak to him, or my other brother, ever. Now he’s callin’ wanting to tell me all about school and college. Kid’s eighteen now, babe. Austin is twelve- I never even met him. He had no idea until this year had another older brother. Phoenix is going to Stanford in the fall. Got his whole life planned out…

“I missed everything.”

“It’s not your fault,” I reminded him, but he rolled his eyes. 

Reno didn't respond, nor looked at me for a few beats. As if toiling through his head if he should continue. But he did, with a heavy sigh, “he wants me to go to his graduation party in a few weeks.”

“Seriously?”

“Said it would mean a lot to him if I went.”

“What did your parents say about that?”

“You wanna hear some bullshit? They’re apparently  _ excited  _ to see me.”

I despised the look on his face. Cross between a hurt predator and child with big, hopeful eyes. In the thirteen years we’ve been doing this dance, Reno rarely spoke a word of the family who abandoned him. An unspoken rule, that both Rude and I dared not break, to never utter a reference towards Reno about his parents, his brother- or brothers. Senior year of high school was the last time. And much like today, when unwanted news reached his ears, he stormed from our house to wander the streets looking for... _ something _ . That time, he didn’t come home with groceries and ready to discuss. 

He almost didn’t make it home…

“Something feels suspicious.” He said after another several minutes of broken silence. 

“Oh?”

“The company just went public. Rufus was in Forbes magazine for being one of the youngest self-made millionaires.” and I went to correct him-that self made was a loose term, since Rufus had inherited about 750,000 dollars from his father- but Reno doesn’t allow me. “He named Tseng, Rude, and I as Vice Presidents. Now, my estranged brother, who was  _ six _ when I left, calls me out of the blue to establish a relationship. How.fuckin. _ convinent. _ ”

As I ran my hand up and down his chest, I could feel his heart thump with rage. His chest rigid even as his breathing seemed strained. But all I had was my touch. As was tradition, while my written word fared much better, anything spoken didn’t seem right. Or helpful. Or anything except to exaggerate the already morose situation. 

Reno knew this. Which was why it shocked me when he turned and asked, “What should I do?” with soft cerulean eyes drifting ever further in a sea of his own doubt. 

“I really don’t know, babe.”

He nodded, “Yeah. Same.” 

Reno owed the Sinclair’s nothing. And he didn’t owe either of his brothers an explanation for his absence. On the other hand, however, “it might be nice...though, to get to know your brothers…”

He turned back towards the gorgeous view of the building across the street, not renovated, with its cracked black brick and windows with blankets for curtains “Yeah...I guess.”

I rested my head on his shoulder and paused on stroking the muscles of his chest to lay my hand over his heart. The  _ bump bump bump _ returned to an even pace as we tried to enjoy the chill of a Spring breeze running along our hair. It was a nice day. And we’ve had many nice days since moving here a year ago. We’ve had nice afternoon walks with Fen, despite the Winter weather. We’ve been able to hold hands without the lingering stares or the fear of being attacked. We’ve had nice nights getting dinner and drinks at the abundance of businesses. Closing out  _ Lucky 13 _ with the group on most nights. Shows at  _ Knitting Factory  _ even when we don’t know the artists. And we’ve had nice mornings, waking up in each other's arms. Taking our time to roll out of bed, or quickly returning back to bed after Fen got his walk in. Or leaving for work around the same time. Finally secure in our jobs. In our home. 

And I can’t stress how important this year had been for us, because up until we signed the lease to this place, and I graduated with my Master’s degree, nothing was  _ nice _ . 

And it started...

“Senior year…” I chuckled to myself. 

But I felt the laugh rumbled in Reno’s lungs, “fuckin’ senior year…”

“What a shit show.” I groaned, getting closer to him to escape a particular chilling wind.

“Remember when Tifa fought Elena on Halloween?” He pulled me closer with a grin, “that was fuckin insane. I thought she was gonna kill her- then me when I pulled her off.”

“Elena deserved it after she chalked* Tseng in front of Aerith…” 

And the name pierced my tongue as my voice trailed into the wind.

“Heh...Aerith…” I repeated. 

“Wonder what she would say about this?” Reno asked through a crack in his voice he swallowed immediately. 

I paused to look at him, and his jaw seemed clenched for a different reason. I tried to force a smile, a sad one, but I felt weighed down.. “Probably...don’t burden your brother with the sins of your father?”

He blinked his wilted eyes to life. Tasted my words. And then allowed a barely audible laugh. “Yeah. Probably something stupid like that.”

We drifted into our own worlds...and I had to believe we began to relive those moments before the  _ nice _ times arrived. 

We spent so many years living trough past mistakes, like on a wheel, repeating them over

And over

And over.

Until we stopped the ride but never got off the coaster. Waiting to address the lives we left behind.

And maybe now...is a good time to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks folks on here, on tumblr, on Discord, on FF.net for THE SUPPORT. You are great and amazing. I am glad the first chapter resonated with you all. Sequels can be tough but it helps when people are cheering me on! Also shout out to the frends who reported they stayed UP ALL NIGHT reading Cherry Soda Boy to catch up. I HOPE YOU GOT SOME SLEEP???? 
> 
> Also, for those interested, a beautiful human created a discord for Cleno fans! Check it out here https://discord.gg/AxXeESPQ  
> I don't know how to add links to A03 because I'm an old all Millennial. haha. But, in the words of the Evil Dead, JOIN US <3
> 
> P.S I am thinking of changing the title of this story to "Songs to Commit Murder To," to play off the whole spotify playlist theme/ a call back to the Christmas chapter where Cloud gives Reno a mixtape. So, any opinions on that let me know!


	3. Now Playing: Where is My Mind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _With your feet on the air and your head on the ground  
>  Try this trick and spin it, yeah  
> Your head will collapse  
> If there's nothing in it  
> And you'll ask yourself  
> Where is my mind?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying something here. Might break this chapter off into another part of this series but I haven't decided yet.
> 
> TW/CW:  
> Suicide attempt reference  
> Vulgar language towards women

The need to write kept my eyes wired open and making friends with the shadows on the ceiling. I could feel my mind contort into a highway with cars filled with memories flying up and down metaphorical streets- crash and blow up. Like pockets of my mind evaporating into dust and ash. This opened a vacancy in my chest which swirled like a black hole; eating at my heart that begged for some kind of  _ release _ . And there was a time, not too long ago, where that release involved crushing and snorting white pills into my system until my eyes felt heavy and I could sleep in blissful emptiness. There was a time, way before, where that release needed a chaser with clear liquid which burned all the words I wanted to say. How I didn’t realize that my vices dragged me further into my silent turmoil.

I hadn’t written anything down in a long time. Originally a coping mechanism when the other outlets became detrimental to my survival, then something I even thought I could build a career out of- if I had...any desire to share my words with anyone. It took me five years to show Reno the poem I wrote for him when I was sixteen. It took me another year to show him the ones I wrote when he took my heart and stomped all over it until it left me with fucking  _ nothing _ .

But I’ll get to that story, eventually. 

When I slide myself out of the bed I share with my partner, I make sure not to stir him awake- less I want the well meaning interrogation. I slip out of our silk black sheets into the cerulean darkness of our room. The lights of New York City illuminate parts of the wood floor and give me a path to navigate to the door. Fenrir takes the chance to jump on the my still warm side of the bed and snuggle up to his sleeping father. I take one more look at the pair. Reno, out of instinct, threw an arm over the dog and buried his face into his fur. And even while he slept, I could see his eyes behind lids darting around- his own highways filled with traffic.

I walk to the second room of the house which acts as an office for the both of us. 

I pass the pictures we hung on our small hallway; vacations we took, us at the weddings we’ve already dropped money on, our college graduation, our high school, our prom…

All the Halloweens we shared as a group.

In our office our diplomas hung up thanks to my mother’s influence. We, probably, would have forgotten about them had she not become addicted to documenting our lives. Our desks, like our nightstands, are on opposite sides of the room and tell the tale of two people. Reno’s has his laptop, a modest lamp, and all our important paperwork carefully organized in the drawers. 

I got a  _ Legend of Zelda  _ lamp because I was worried about being too much of an adult, and there’s papers everywhere I need to grade in the near future, and the drawers are stacked with Unit plans I am creating to make my teaching more effective. But it’s a mess. The bookshelf adjacent to my desk, now that is a well organized beauty- and a reminder that I can, infact, be organized. 

I take my seat. Push some of the papers to the side, noting I am sure to regret it later, and pull open the bottom drawer. There, a graveyard of all my words rest in lined tombs. Some have their epitaph scribbled in the margins with the dates they lived. Some are filled with broken thoughts floating through space and time. Words left unclaimed. 

Some of these memories only have words left. 

I grab the leather bound journal which slipped on to the side of the drawer from the last time I slammed it shut-- in frustration when the blank page taunted me. And I thought I had run out of things to say. But my mind starts to boil once I open to the first page. Clear. The smell of new paper fills the room. My favorite pen twitches in my hand. 

I go back to  _ this  _ particular year first.

And hope as I open the gates, I’d figure out why I’m stuck in this year...

  
  
  


It’s 2005. 

Not caring was still cool, but I had made a promise to myself to re-evaluate what was deserving of my apathy. My parents no longer fell into that category, nor my boyfriend who still lived in my house, nor my friends and the bridges I swore to rebuild after breaking them down several months before. 

School, also, became worthy of my attention. 

And at the time, with the September sun pushing through the open window of my room, I finally felt the ping of excitement associated with new beginnings. I tried to bury the nerves that often frayed with reminders that it is normal to be nervous for the first day of a new school. The problem, which hadn’t been immediately clear as I readied myself in my bathroom- fussing with my hair, with black painted nails, and adjusting the several necklaces and chains which would elicit a groan from my father- was that living with anxiety meant I cared about everything. Even when I didn’t want to. And with depression, I forgot to care about myself, which would have turned into a slippery slope if I wasn’t careful, and I often wasn’t.

But that wasn’t on my mind, as I looked at myself once more. I adorned casually ripped jeans my mother spent too much money on, and a new black hoody- since  _ someone _ stole the other one- covering my  _ Black Sabbath _ shirt. Decked out with the chained necklace my boyfriend got me for Christmas mingling with several other chains I procured- since, yes, I was definitely a chain guy- and I transformed into a poster child for  _ Hot Topic _ . All I needed was black eyeliner, which Tifa had been begging me to  _ rock _ for months, but I held strong. Didn’t need to go full EMO. That would be just  _ too typical _ . 

But what a change, I thought, from the beginning of last year. 

I was sober, for one thing. The first time in maybe two years I didn’t pull my eyes open to a splitting headache and a blur of memories from the night before. In fact, the night before- though hazier now in my old age- had been a simple occasion where the weed flowed more than anything alcoholic. The twilight bbq, the first of a subsequent annual occurrence, had been a success. And my dad, in his excitement, allowed Reno and I to break curfew and have our friends over well into the night. Evening walks with the group around the island and getting munchies to devour to the tune of pixelated gun fire until their parents called them home. 

And Reno and I snuck to his room, where we smoked our bad habits on his balcony until our eyes burned. And, even then, I wondered how we never ran out of topics to discuss. 

That was the other change. 

Reno appeared in my bathroom like a flash of lightning, “Yo, you almos-....What the fuck are you wearing?”

I threw him a glare before giving myself another cautious once over, “What?”

“Why the fuck are you wearin’ a hoody in fucking hundred degree weather!” he shouted.

I narrowed my eyes and held up my wrists, covered with the black fabric of the Zumeiz hoodie, “that’s why.” I frowned when he rolled his eyes.

“No one’s checkin’ out your wrists. And it ain’t any of their business, anyway.”

A groan rumbled through my throat as I crossed my arms over my chest to hide the offending limbs. Reno huffed and pushed himself off the threshold of the bathroom and stomped to my nightstand. Digging through the contents and mumbling something under his breath. I took the moment to analyze his own outfit. The first time either of us have been outside a uniform on the dawn of a new school year. He chose blue jeans from Armani he saved up for, and a plain white shirt. The chain linked necklace I bought him no longer the only accessory; Aerith finally convinced us to allow her to pierce our left ears. 

Reno returned holding on two black sweatbands I forgot I owned. “Here. It’ll cover them and I won’t have to hear you complain about being hot.”

“I don’t complain,” I grumbled through removing the hoodie from my body, maintaining a scowl as I took his advice. And while I no longer looked completely obvious wearing long sleeves during the Summer, I- now reflecting on this- looked like a complete tool.

But it’s 2005. And dressing like a Myspace page was cool.

“What’s with your face?” he accosted. 

And I grimaced, “Nothing. This is my face.”

“You look like someone took a shit in your cereal,” he shrugged. “Yo, it ain’t  _ that _ bad.”

“Who transfers school senior year?” 

“Uh, the gays?” And I mirrored his eye roll before he continued with his own sigh, “we didn’t exactly have a choice. And besides, high school doesn’t really matter. These ain’t the best years of our lives. We ain’t gonna be homecoming or prom king and the best we can hope for is to get a car to get the fuck outta dodge. So, none of this shit matters anyway.”

“How can you sound both optimistic and pessimistic at the same time?”

“Good ol’ Southern trauma? So…” he threw his hands up, “you ready or what?”

I found my fingers had begun to fiddle with the bands like they were handcuffs anchoring me to this bathroom. I took one more look at myself in the mirror and hoped my eyes didn’t give me away. I could remember looking just like this a year ago, with the dark circles from lack of sleep and blotches of red from stress.

And thought about how not everything changes. 

If Reno caught the glimpse of turmoil on my face, he decided to let it go. We jogged downstairs where the smell of bagels and coffee wafted through the living room- beckoning us to the kitchen where my mom stood over the table, arms thrown to draw our attention to the spread she laid out on the table. 

Her smile bright. Every tooth like its own precious stone. The aged lines that started to decorate her face offered a reminder of the sudden increase in laughs instead of tears. 

“I know you boys think you’re too cool to eat breakfast,” Claudia sassed, “but at least you can take a couple for the road.”

“I’m not hungry,” I deadpanned, earning myself a slight kick from Reno. Though he didn’t rush to the table immediately either. 

“You say that every morning,” my mother continued, “you have to  _ eat _ before you go to school! You can’t learn on an empty stomach!”

She grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me towards the table with fierce dedication. And I grumbled. And I complained. About being late to a school I both wanted and didn’t want to go to. And that she’s embarrassing me, again. And my mother ignored every empty statement, and brushed off all arguments, and forced me to my seat. She’s like that, even now. Overly concerned for our well being like her life depended on our comfort. And maybe in a way...focusing all her energy on us was the tether that kept her sober. And I’m not sure if that was always a good thing…

But while I pretended I didn’t enjoy this sudden mothering that had been absent in a few years, I didn’t realize my dad had emerged from a spot in the house and tapped Reno on the shoulder. And I was so engrossed on going through my schedule with my mom for the fifteenth time, I barely registered when my dad said to Reno,

“Hey, Nevada, come to the garage, I want to show you something.”

And Reno’s sarcastic response, “Yeah that’s not suspicious at all, B-unit.”

And I wouldn’t find out about this conversation for years and sometimes wonder why he kept it from me for so long. Reno would tell me how they exchanged their normal morning banter on the walk and note his own conflicted feelings towards their rapport. He didn’t see my dad as a father figure,  _ no _ , he assured me. Not then at least. He tried seeing him as  _ just _ his boyfriend’s father. At best. At worst. The guy he currently needed to listen to if he wanted to remain off the streets. But at least, he rationalized, Bastian was better than the other guy. 

Then they walked into the garage and up to white 2004 Infiniti Dad had been tempting me with for a year. They stood there, Reno recalled, for a few minutes staring at their own reflections in the windows. And Reno noted the features along my father’s distorted reflection, and how they reminded him of me. But how the expression, sea green eyes focused, head held up like practiced confidence, felt more familiar to himself. 

“You’ve been working a lot,” my dad acknowledged. 

“Gotta make that cash money,” Reno responded with twitch in his lips he forced into a smirk.

“School’s important too. Even if you’re a senior.”

“Yeah I know.” But every word was a bite to Reno’s tongue. He wanted to say he could drop out. He was seventeen. Get his GED and work full time. Then...well he never got to a then- because the conversation would be sliced shut. Non-negotiable. 

“You did really well last year despite everything that happened. You showed a lot of character...you're a hard worker.”

Reno shifted on his feet- the compliments made him feel like a thousand fire ants were nipping at his body. “Thanks….”

“I want you to take the car.” My dad said flatly.

And Reno snapped his head to Bastian Strife. “This is Cloud’s car.”

“You’re the one who can drive it,” he paused, “Cloud can’t pass his driver’s test-”

“It’s not that he can’t. He will. He just needs to get out of his own head.”

“He had a panic attack when I tried teaching him…”

“That wasn’t a panic attack.” Reno navigated his tone. Drawing it in until it cut his throat. “He just gets nervous when you’re in the car with him.”

“You need it more than him,” my dad pushed. “You’re working, you have sports you are thinking of joining. Taking the bus will just get in the way of what you want to accomplish. Cloud’s not doing any of that.”

Reno couldn’t ignore the disappointed tone dribbling from my father’s words. And the hidden meaning behind them. Because my dad, at that exact time, knew my acceptance into the school newspaper despite being a new student, and how I was invited to participate in the literary magazine during their summer edition. Initiative that  _ I  _ took because I wanted to get more involved. He knew I planned on joining the fuckin book club, and film club, and the damn video club. Which was more social engagement I would have in one year of high school than the three years before. He knew I got into honors English despite the botchery that was my Junior year. He knew despite everything, I scored a 1056 on my second attempt at the SATs after bombing the first one. After knowing I had trouble focusing during long tests. Without accommodations because he didn’t believe I needed it. I did that all. 

But because I didn’t intend on getting a job right away. 

And I wasn’t planning on joining sports.

And I didn’t get a 1360 on my first try…

I wasn't _ doing anything _ .

But Reno just grinded his teeth against all those reminders. And went with the one he always came back to,. “I can’t afford a car, man. I’m saving up to move out when I turn eighteen.”

“Right, of course,” dad responded unconvinced, “We’ll pay for the insurance, for now…”

“No. I’m-”

“It’s not charity. You’re doing us a favor. The car just sits here now taking up dust. It should be driven.”

Another pause as Reno focused his eyes on the car which remained unused since my dad upgraded. The car which my father often dangled in front of me like a carrot, thinking it would motivate me. Since that’s the goal, right? All seventeen year old boys want a car. And Reno would be lying to himself if he didn’t, even a little, miss the freedom having his own vehicle gave him- even if he chained him to a prison. 

And this...moment, felt oddly familiar. 

“Okay,” he relented, “but only so  _ I _ can teach the kid how to drive. Then it goes back to him, ‘kay?”

My dad smiled and held out the keys, “Deal.”

Reno looked at the black car remote dangling from the silver ring pinched in Bastian’s hand, then my dad’s eyes- who he thought seemed relieved- and grabbed them with a weak  _ you got it _ . 

And my dad went back upstairs, leaving Reno with the white 2004 Infiniti, which was both a far cry and so similar to the old black BMW with plates from Tennessee. Reno never received anything without a catch. And as he stood in the dingy garage amongst the other discarded items, he wondered what he would have to sacrifice for this gift. 

Though, he said none of this at the time.

Instead when I joined him down in the garage, I found him leaning against the drivers side door with his trademark smirk forcibly glued to his face as he threw the keys in the air and caught them with a jingle. 

“Woooooooooow,” I sputtered dramatically, “he gave you  _ my _ car.”

“Oh like you wanted to drive?” he rolled his eyes, “ _ Come on, _ pretty boy, you’re one step closer to being the sugar baby you always wanted to be.”

“This is such bullshit,” I stomped to the passenger side with my mouth pulled by my own faux frown. Because I hated the idea of driving, but I needed to at least pretend this got under my skin. “I'm going to learn to drive  _ eventually _ .”

He responded with a sardonic  _ yeah yeah _ …

Which sounded just as artificial.

The drive felt like a movie I’ve burned into my retinas. 

Even if the route changed. Pictures faded pass the window of the same trees, and brick houses, and white on white on white moving vehicles. Horns drowned out the guttural guitars and shrieking vocals blaring from the audio system. Another markup on memories. Reno drove fast and didn’t let me tarnish the car with smoke, but he gave me the privilege of playing double duty- DJ and GPS system. And even if he hid the wince when I put in the  _ Everytime I Die _ CD, he didn’t let the insults spill. 

Instead, he kept one hand on the wheel and the other had fingers interlaced with mine as he tapped along with the drums. The windows down as the only breeze, giving no relief to the humidity and heat. Black clothing was a poor choice, but the discomfort felt better when it was consensual. 

We didn’t talk on the ride. 

He figured out how to get to the school having walked these roads to meet at the 7/11 across from it.

My leg shook as I played  _ mind _ over  _ matter _ with my nicotine addiction.

And I liked having nothing more to think about.  _ I told myself _ . And my brain switched to memorizing my schedule. Making sure to map out behind my eyes how to get to every class without causing disruptions. It already sucked being the new kid. Reno seemed unphased as we pulled into the parking spot. And we both took a moment to take in the red brick building. It looked like any other school. On any other part of this island. It didn’t stand out as anything special or known for anything important, except that Method Man walked those same halls. 

It was just another public high school with a low graduation rate and budding drug problem. 

We met up with our friends at the rocker tree hidden on the side of the school. The usual suspects playing hack or engulfed in the small piece of shade the tree offered. Biggs, Wedge, and a few folks I met at parties kicking the small knit ball around. Vincent observed underneath his  _ Korn  _ hoodie- apparently immune to the heat which pulsed on his back. Vinny had no real business at the school since he signed himself out at the end of what would have been his senior year if the absences and failed classes hadn’t held him at freshman status. 

Then the girls, Tifa, Jesse, and Yuffie under the branches of the tree having a photoshoot. 

At this point, Tifa and I mended a bit of our friendship. Kind of hard to keep up the silent treatment when she was dating my boyfriend’s cousin- and double dates were an  _ actual _ thing we tried doing. However...while she may have tolerated me and, even, wanted me around, Reno was another story. 

Jessie skipped over once she noticed us approaching. “Well, well, you guys are  _ actually _ going through with this, huh?” She flashed a fake smile with her uphitched tone. Like she was privy to something about us. Like going to this school was ever  _ not _ an option. 

“Yeah, fuckin what else are we going to do?” I snapped. 

“Just sayin’. You ain’t cut out for public school, rich boy.”

Our rapport in the last few months had devolved. She tried pulling the  _ I used her, to _ , card to get on the same level as Tifa. And I, being a prick, wasn’t going to let her use me to garner a pity party. 

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough to know when I’m lookin at a bitch.”

“You lookin’ in the mirror or something? Cause the only bitch I see here is you.”

“You should watch your attitude with me,” Jessie placed her hands on her hips with a pivot, “I can get your ass jumped.”

“Stop tryin’ to act like some hood chick. You’re Italian from Midland Beach.”

“And you’re a pussy from Todt Hill!”

I couldn’t believe I let this girl stick her tongue down my throat last year with her weak insults in my direction. I rolled my eyes to Reno who looked amused at the whole exchange, even as Jessie continued to shower me with vulgarity. 

Meanwhile, Tifa waited a few beats before she halted Jessie’s chorus. And I wondered why Tifa needed to put on the show in the first place. Was it to make her feel better? Having someone say all the things that pressed against the back of her throat. Not having the guts to do it herself because it wouldn’t do anything except drive the wedge between us further. 

And she wasn’t exactly ready to sever the ties just yet- and back then I didn’t know why. 

“So,” Tifa began as Jessie skipped away, directing her attention solely on me, “are you feeling okay about being here?”

She asked me the same thing last night. 

And she asked me this when I enrolled and when I submitted the paperwork. 

She’s been asking this for months. And I didn’t know if this was her way to get under skin. Or if she was really concerned. Or this was us battling for conversation.

I shrugged and gave her the same answer. “It’s better than SSA.”

“I’ll show you around,” she folded her arms over her chest. I remembered taking in her body language. Guarded. “You’ll get used to it eventually…”

We shared the same painful smile. Which died as soon as Reno’s voice hit her ears.

“It ain’t that big,” he blew black smoke in her direction- and I couldn’t tell if it was on purpose. 

“There’s way more students in here than at your old school,” she bit back, “it’s easy to get overwhelmed.”

“I think we’ll manage, princess.”

She dropped her arms with a growl, “I’m not really concerned for you.”

  
I elbowed Reno in the ribs before he could drop another line on her. And then shot him a glare to remind him to stand down. And he smirked before taking another drag and turning his attention back to the school. I looked back at Tifa, but she waved me off with a huff and joined her friends back at the tree. Their scowls sharp as they murmured words drenched in poison.

And this scene seemed to be a staple in these polaroid memories. 

Like the monochromic cars. And matching high schools. 

And hoards of teenagers in different shades. And back then, I wondered, when the story would change. 

I joined Reno at the iron gate which enclosed the school. 

“You gotta stop getting on her nerves,” I weakly warned. 

“I don’t start shit,” he sucked his teeth.

But I didn’t press the issue.

Put it on the back-burner, instead. We could discuss it another time, I rationalized. Even as the glass was about to break with the obvious realization none of the three, or four if you counted Rude, wanted to acknowledge. 

There was too much laid at the threshold of this year. 

So it became just another thing Reno and I didn’t talk about; and we were too distracted to notice how all those important discussions were starting to pile up. 

But it’s 2005. And we’re seventeen.

Not twenty-nine. 

  
We bury our words with cigarette smoke. Focus on the trail ahead. Memorize the map instead. Don’t cause anymore disruptions-

And we don’t, not this time,

We just watched the rest of our group burn down instead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I was going back and forth with it for two weeks: I either wanted to break this chapter off to another part of the series, which would high light their senior year (only about like five chapters in total probably, haven't written them out yet.) but then I wanted to keep it all together, so here I am. If I get feedback saying you'd rather in another part of the series so you could read at your leisure , then I can change it. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you liked this chapter. These next six chapters will deal with issues that arose in Senior year, which of course tie back to the overarching theme. This is a structure I am experimenting with so feedback would be welcomed. 
> 
> Thank you for your support! 
> 
> P.S So the SATs in the United States were out of 2400, but colleges still only looked at out of 1600 because, i don't know, the american education system is a fucking nightmare?? So Reno and Cloud's scores are out of 1600, the OG. Also, fun fact, I scored a 980 my first try and a 960 my second because fuck standardized testing.


	4. New American Classic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Just ask the question, come untie the knot  
>  Say you won't care  
> Say you won't care  
> Retrace the steps as if we forgot  
> Say you won't care  
> Say you won't care  
> You try to avoid it (try to avoid it)  
> But there's not a doubt  
> And there's one thing I can do nothing_
> 
> "New American Class"-- Taking Back Sunday

Reno spent most of his time working back then. And even I sometimes had to admire the dedication, for someone who never worked a day in his life. He played the customer service role like he was in a teen movie; with his mesmerizing smile and chill demeanor. He had the charisma to make the middle aged women, pushing their strollers, feel like they were sixteen again with the compliments spilling from his lips. Using that same mouth to convince his supervisor to give jobs to all the friends he managed to keep from his old life. And while Rude got the job to pay for his hand-me-down car, and Tseng knew colleges like jobs on applications, I couldn’t figure out why Rufus Shinra, of all people, would need a reason to work. 

But there he was, barking orders at the rest of the Saturday morning shift before he disappeared into the back to do “inventory” even though that was definitely not his responsibility. And when I probed Reno to solve the mystery, he shrugged and told me he didn’t care enough to ask. 

That didn’t quell my suspicion. So, for the first month of his new job, I sat in the corner drinking my Frappuccino with Aerith. Reno didn’t mind the intrusion; said he liked the view. 

I really wish he hadn’t reinforced that behavior. 

On this Saturday, most of the crew were working and the Starbucks in the center of the mall was bursting at the seams with a flurry of mall patrons. I knew we wouldn’t be able to hold down the table for too long; especially when I locked eyes with the twelve year olds ordering their sugar drinks. The same pink shake Aerith was sucking down in between telling me all the current drama at Saint Sebastains and stealing glances at Tseng trying to juggle the new order of six complex concoctions. Her stories were nothing new; the same old bullshit from that school. I drifted in and out of the conversation. Eyes wilted towards the glass window overlooking the entrance to the Mall. 

That place is its own sentient life form. A touch of cold tile and a mess of white noise. The focal point of the Island, second only to its neighbor- the Staten Island dump-as most recognizable asset on Staten Island. And everyone lived here. Always running into someone I knew…

Even in that moment I almost expected to see Sephiroth amongst the crowd. Lurking. Waiting. I could never shake the feeling he would make good on that promise he made back in April in the shadows of a house party. 

“Cloud are you listening?!” Aerith snapped, waving her hand in my face.

“Yeah, sorry.” I shifted and caught her frustrated frown. “You said something about a dress?”

“Ugh! Yes, I said can you help me look for a homecoming dress?”

I groaned loudly, “God, no.”

“Come on…”

“Is this because I’m gay and you think I have good fashion sense?”

Her face crumbled into a disgusted look, “Uh, no, do you see your clothes? If I wanted to go to a goth rave, you’d be the first one I’d call.”

“Wow…”

“Like, why so many safety pins? Are you making a statement? And if so, is it that you’ll pay dumb money for already destroyed clothes just for the aesthetic?”

“Okay, so then why do you want me to help you find a dress?!”

“Well,” she folded her hands on the table, “I don’t have any other friends…”

I arched a brow at this statement. “Since when? What about Tifa?”

At this, she threw me an exasperated sigh. Like I should have known this- maybe if I listened more. Should have listened more with her…

“Tifa’s busy with Rude these days,” she muttered, even though she didn’t exactly have a leg to stand on with that argument, “and I don’t really have friends at school. So. You’re literally my only consistent friend right now to help me.”

I didn’t know if she was bullshitting me. Or trying to make me feel guilty. But I remembered she lost many of her so-called friends when we broke up. And the dance club was a part of that exodus. And she struggled forging relationships with the girls in Tseng’s group.

Back then, we blamed girls for their inability to get along.

Not the boys who fostered those negative interactions for their own self-preservation.

But I also didn’t think wandering around the Mall, hunting for dresses she’ll only complain about was a good use of my time.

Not that I had, back then, any big plans. 

“Yo,” Reno stood next to our table, hands on his hips, “Y’all gotta skedaddle.”

“The fuck you just say to me?” I smirked, taking in the sight of him decked out in the Starbucks green apron and black baseball cap. Wondering how he managed to look good in just about anything he wore. Though I secretly preferred the lifeguard uniform he sported during the summer. 

“I can’t tell you to go f yourselves, like I want to,” he nodded over to the counter where the beady yellow eyes of his manager poked out from behind the door like a sleep paralysis demon. “The king has spoken.”

“That’s fine,” Aerith arose, “Cloud’s going to help me find a dress.”

Reno sputtered out a laugh, “You going to a funeral or something?”

“Ha, you’re both hilarious.”

“Does  _ Hot Topic _ even have dresses?” he added with a slight nudge to my side as I stood up next to him. Close enough to catch the smell of freshly brewed coffee which stuck to his clothes, but resisting the pull to close the small gap between us. His supervisor didn’t catch on we were a couple- and I thought if he did, I would lose my spot on Saturdays. 

“They do, actually,” I retorted, but Aerith gagged at the thought.

“Well if you  _ happen _ to stumble into Hot Topic, maybe talk to the manager about a job?”

“Ugh,” I groaned, “not you, too?”

“Come on, babe, I can’t be the only one workin’ here. Starbucks don’t pay  _ that _ well. Besides, you and your friends are always hanging out there anyway. Might as well get paid for being there?”

“How do you know they are even hiring?”

At this, he flashed me a sinister smile, “Manager comes in here at least twice a day. Made friends, ya know. She asked if I wanted to jump ship to over there, but I declined. However….you might be a perfect fit.”

I huffed, “I thought I was your sugar baby.”

Aerith started laughing and Reno shot me those sparkling blue eyes that suggested more than he even realized. “I’ll give you  _ sugar _ later,  _ baby- _ ”

“God, you both are disgusting…” she grumbled.

“-but I have it under good authority that your pops is about to cut you off. So maybe do this as a gesture of good will? Don’t want him taking away  _ all our privileges _ , right?”

This would become an ongoing issue, that he was more involved in the discussions concerning me. At seventeen, it felt like a small annoyance- like the prick from the needle Aerith used for our earring. A small insignificant observation that, at the time, I buried behind the blind admiration I had for him. I didn’t bother drawing attention to how the conversations he shared with my father gave me pause. Dare I even say, bothered me. But we were young, and playing house. And by the time I let them know I did care…

It was used as a weapon against me. 

But that’s how I got my first job, at the behest of my boyfriend. I sulked into the Hot Topic on the second floor of the mall, filled out an application while Aerith pretended to be interested in the goth attire hanging on the walls. The manager, who appeared barely older than me, with arms covered in traditional style tattoos glimmering on her pale skin, seemed uninterested until I mentioned the redhead from Starbucks sent me. 

“Oh, the hot guy?” She boldly proclaimed.

“Yeah...the hot one.” I murmured.

At this she tilted her head to the side, scanning my form behind her thick rimmed glasses, until she reached my belt. “Rainbow belt, eh?”

I shifted, “Yeah…”

“For shits and giggles?”

“...not quite?”

Her eyes darted around the store and naturally I followed her, taking note of all the pro- LGBT merchandise. This corporation using our movement to make a buck; with the cringy “i like boys who kiss boys” black shirts and the less embarrassing “love is love” wristbands. And...the rainbow accessories. My belt’s twin proudly hung on a rack with the rest of the colorful items. 

“I don’t really like hiring kids,” she gave my application another look over- pathetic by anyone’s standards then, but this would be my first real job. “But, the guy at Starbucks is cool peoples, and you have the look. The store manager will have to give you an interview, but he’s a moron and I do all of the hiring anyway.” She clicked her tongue with an eye roll. “What’s your favorite band?”

“Slipknot,” I lied. Not that they weren’t my favorite, but if I told her I liked My Chemical Romance, she might not have given me the job. And suddenly, locking down this position as a retail servant became my only immediate goal. “But I really listen to anything metal.”

“Typical,” she mumbled, “Well Cloud, I’m willing to take a chance on ya. The store manager’s name is Ethan, he’ll call you by Monday. If you don’t hear anything, send the red-head to remind me.”

“Okay...thank you. Uh, It was nice meeting you, Lucretia,” I stumbled over my words that twisted in my tongue. And I was glad she didn’t seem interested in shaking my hand because my palms felt like two waterfalls. And I noticed the vacant feeling rumble in my stomach- that could have been from lack of food and entirely too much coffee- but the voice in my back of my head continued to screech warnings into my ear. How stupid I was being. I saw myself standing there awkwardly, with my hands in the pockets of jeans. And the stupid rainbow belt I bought because I was feeling particularly proud of myself. But all it did was hold on a glaring blinking sign for all to see.

And then I spent all that time standing there thinking about how stupid it was standing there with that stupid belt, and thankfully Aerith calling my name from the entrance, shattered the voice and rendered it silent, for a moment. 

_ Talk to your therapist _ , I remember scolding myself.  _ You aren’t being normal _ . 

But instead, I cautiously gave Lucretia a wave which she went to return, but then stopped, “The red-head, he’s….18...right…?”

“No. Seventeen.” 

She sighed and shook her head, “Figures.”

I walked out the store, thinking then how this would be an okay first job but something temporary. Something I wouldn’t find myself returning to when my options became limited. And Lucretia would just be a small blip in my memories; a name I would forget once I entered college. 

And in hindsight, I find myself admiring how short sighted teenagers could be.

The rest of the afternoon we spent scouring the mall for a dress. Aerith became a hurricane in every store who had the bad luck to serve us. When she wasn’t arguing with the sales associate to let me in the fitting room with her- despite her loud excuse,  _ It’s fine! He’s gay! _ Because the belt wasn’t enough of a fuckin billboard- she tore through racks of dresses with murderous green eyes. 

Too small.

Too big.

Too pink.

Too blue. No blue. She shouted at me,  _ blue is not her color _ and I should  _ know this _ . 

And I honestly hadn’t paid enough attention in the last three to four years of high school to know exactly what homecoming was, let alone why it was so important she found the perfect dress for the occasion. And at the three hour mark of this adventure and the fifth store, I was honestly too afraid to ask her. 

And when she emerged from the hundredth dress she tried on, this one a white A-line that washed out her skin, and the determination in her green eyes started to fade, I wished for a second I was better at this game. This became a moment I often found myself revisiting a lot. Aerith, in defeat, took a seat next to me in the waiting area of the Express we were in. The pop music blasting through the speakers as the Saturday morning rush overwhelmed the workers there. The fitting room Aerith abandoned already cleared of its contents from a mean-mugging employee and effortlessly replaced with a new body. 

“I always wait until the last minute,” she lamented as she slipped on her flats. Back in her pink Hollister henley top and skinny ripped jeans. Her hair frizzed into raspy looking waves which she gathered into a high messy bun. “….Scarlet is going to be the homecoming queen anyway.”

“Why does it even matter?” Was an honest question; one I immediately regretted when she glared at me.

“It just does, Cloud.” She shook her head, “you don’t get it because you don’t care about anything except your boyfriend.”

“Ouch,” I winced, “that’s not true. I care about a lot of shit.”

“Yeah well, you don’t care about Homecoming or Prom.”

“I care about Prom, I just don’t think it’s the most important thing in my life right now.”

“What if,” her voice hitched, and I looked at her- really looked at her. I never noticed until then how big her eyes were. Like two green emeralds now welled with salt water. Her face pinched like she was holding her breath. And then with an exhale, “What if this is the only thing I do? Like, what if nothing matters after high school? I’m trying really hard to get into all these good schools, Like Duke, and BU, and Columbia, and I’m freaking out because...what if I don’t get into any of them? Okay? Like my SAT scores are fine, but they're not, like, perfect. And I’m in all these clubs and tried to join enough sports, but then my dad told me I couldn’t because I was stressing myself out. And I volunteer every Sunday and Friday night. And I only have Saturday to find a stupid dress. That’s all I need, is a stupid dress and I can’t even make that happen. And what if. What if I can’t do anything? What if I fail?”

A sharp inhale to hold back the crack in her voice, to hold back the tears that gathered in her throat. She looked at me with those big pleading gems like I would have some kind of answer. Instead I tried whispering that everything would be okay and pulled her into a hug.

“Woah, you ain’t failing, pretty girl,” I whispered as she buried her head in my shoulder, and I ran my hands up and down her arms until her breathing settled. “This is just high school, okay? You got your whole life to fuck up.” Her tiny giggle rumbled through my chest and I gave her a reassuring kiss on the top of her head. “You’re fine. We’ll find a dress and everything will be okay. And if we don’t, then show up naked-I’m sure that will help your chances of winning.”

At that, she pulled away and slapped me on the chest, but her laugh was contagious. And I used the sleeve of my hoodie to wipe away the few tears that managed to escape her clenched eyes. And...in the moment, I thought she was ridiculous. The whole spectacle. I failed to realize the dress was a symbol. Homecoming was just a metaphor. Her fake rivalry with Scarlet, or any other girl, was something small and tangible she could manage. I failed to realize that underneath the superficial teenage angst, laid something so much deeper. A war she waged on her own. 

I go back to this day a lot. I think of all the other things I should have said. Maybe validate her fears even if they seemed inconsequential. 

I should have listened. Really listened. 

But in the back of my head I kept my eye on the time; that our boyfriends will be getting off work soon and that’s where I wanted to be. 

I should have paid attention to her worn smile. I should have let her drag me to the last store and spend more time tearing through fabric. 

Because now I can’t remember how her small hand was in mine when I grabbed it for fake reassurances. Or how her fingers felt when she brushed my growing hair behind my ear. I can barely recall the sound of her voice. How it rose like a blooming flower in Spring when she was excited, and thundered like a storm when mad, and cracked like glass when she was sad. 

I live in this moment too much, Reno thought. There wasn’t anymore I could do, but I keep trying to change it, like it would make a difference in the end. 

* * *

I received a text from Reno:

**Out in ten, suga tits.**

Which elicited a groan at the new nickname. 

Aerith and I walked hand in hand back to the Starbucks. Which momentarily brought me back to two years before, when we dated. But the memories seemed fuzzy at best; except one clear event, when she had reached for my hand outside the mall during the winter and I snatched it away like her flesh was fire. And I recalled the hurt in her eyes. The flush of embarrassment casting red hue on her pale cheeks. I lied, then, that I wasn’t into public displays of affection.

And then a year after, Black Friday with Reno, we snuck to the back of the mall to share a cigarette in private; and when his hand found mine I took it like it was a life line. A breath of air I needed. And I wished I could hold his hand wherever I wanted. In front of the world. 

But I knew even then, it would be easier for me to hold the hand of my female best friend than my boyfriend. And how sad that made me.

I was engrossed in my thoughts, I didn’t realize Aerith had rooted herself to the ground until my arm almost ripped from his socket. The grip she had rivaled most of the men in my life. I was about to accost her, when I noticed her eyes narrowed towards the glass windows of our destination. And her piercing green orbs pointed directly at a small blonde leaning over the counter and making heart eyes at Aerith’s boyfriend.

“What’s Elena Bush doing there?” she growled. 

“Uh…” Flirting was my initial answer but I rightful swallowed the word. “Getting coffee?”

“Does she have to push in her chest like that?” She shifted, tightening her grip on my hand; but I didn’t dare try to release myself. “And does he have to seem so interested in what she has to say?”

“I think he’s being polite, Aer.”

“She’s been hanging around more.” She noted, “Been texting him more too. Asking for a Math tutor or something like that…”

“I think you’re reading too much into it,” I sighed, but couldn’t help but glue my own gaze to the scene unfolding beyond the glass. The way Elena slowly cupped the hot coffee, and  _ accidentally _ grazed her fingers along Tseng’s as he passed her the beverage. And the toothy smile plastered on her face. That no one else was in the Starbucks with her- no Cissnei or Scarlet- and Tseng didn’t immediately pull his attention from her once the transaction was done.

And then Reno emerged from the back room, spotted the two of us staring into the shop, and elbowed Tseng in the back to draw his sight towards us. Which was not helping  _ either  _ of them. Tseng smiled and waved at us before heading to the back to get his stuff. I watched closely: Elena hovered for a moment, taking a sip of her coffee, while Reno grilled her from the other end of the counter. Then he said something to her which she returned with the middle finger as she exited the establishment. 

Aerith released my hand finally to walk towards the blonde girl. Both of them exchanged strained smiles but seemed intent on talking. And I followed closely to ensure this would be a civil conversation- throwing my boyfriend a tense look, who tried to pretend his shoes were suddenly  _ super _ interesting. 

“Elena, how are you?” Aerith started, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Great!” Elena nodded a bit too enthusiastically, “Just grabbing a latte after shopping all day.” She shook the assortment of bags from several stores hanging on her arm. “Just got my homecoming dress. I’m so excited.”

Aerith clenched her jaw, forcing the most derange grin I’ve seen on her, with wide green eyes. “Oh. That’s. So. Great!” Sharp breath. “I totally forgot you were nominated for homecoming court, how.cool.”

Elena rattled a fake chuckle from her throat, “I know. I was just as surprised as you are! But I guess I really made an impression last year with volunteering at the food back for Thanksgiving and cheerleading and organizing Key Club. You know? Oh.” Long pause, “Didn’t you get kicked out of cheerleading and dance? I forget.”

Aerith curled her hands into a fist, but pushed through with a pleasant voice. “Still in dance. Left cheerleading. Didn’t really want to associate with all the fake people there, you know.”

“Oh sorry,” Elena giggled, “I just thought they kicked you out because of the whole walk out you staged last year over that…” she paused just to gesture aggressively towards me, “whole nonsense.” Like me being outed by everyone was fucking  _ nonsense _ . 

“Oh you mean the nonsense of your boyfriend being outed and getting forced out of school on superficial grounds after being threatened by a group of jocks? That nonsense?”

“Yeah,  _ that _ nonsense. Of your ex-boyfriend stealing  _ my boyfriend _ .” 

“Uh,” I interjected, “technically he was my boyfriend first-”

“Whatever!” the blonde girl snapped, “Just, didn’t look good for the school. You know. Just saying. No offense or anything. Not that  _ I  _ care anymore.”

“Clearly,” Aerith retorted, still sporting the smile, “In any case, it doesn’t matter, really. Scarlet is going to be homecoming queen anyway. And Rufus will be homecoming King. And that’s that right?”

Elena smirked, “You are so right. I mean, we definitely don’t have a shot.”

“Right! I mean, I personally never heard someone from Track 3 becoming homecoming Queen so, I guess it’s all a moot point anyway.”

“Like, so, moot,” she nodded, through teeth so clenched I thought they’d break, “Well, it was like, so good to see you, but I gotta run. Party at Rufus’ place,  _ again _ .” She rolled her eyes like the whole event was just such an inconvenience, “Are you invited? I mean, I’m sure Tseng is invited, but are you also?”

“You know, I think Tseng and I are having a date night tonight so we’ll have to pass.”

“Oh bummer,” she faked her disappointment, “Haven’t seen Tseng let loose in a while. Oh wells, maybe next time.” She shrugged and with a wave, “Ciao!”

Once Elena became engulfed by the darkness of the mall parking lot, I turned to Aerith- her face plastered with a scowl as her eyes followed Elena to the exit. And before I could open my mouth to ask her, what in the actual fuck  _ that _ was all about, our boyfriends emerged from their place of employment. Aprons off. Their black button downs unbuttoned revealing the white tanks underneath. Reno dragged his hands through his freshly dyed red hair as he scanned the both of us; I guessed wondering the outcome of our conversation with Elena, though he never inquired. Instead, he flatly stated he would take Tseng and Aerith home, grabbed my hand, and tugged me along, before Tseng could even open his mouth to greet his, clearly, vexed girlfriend. 

And the car ride boiled with silent tension. I could hear the strained tones from the back seat, filter in pass the music Reno kept turning up to keep the conversation barely above clear vocalizations. Leaving me to lean back in my seat and strain my hearing just to get the broken conversation. And everytime I made myself too obvious, my boyfriend squeezed my hand in disapproval. 

But I could hear the edge in Aerith’s voice sharpening. And Tseng’s cold demeanor chilling the car. And I felt the heaviness in the air when the name at the center of the conversation fell from Aerith’s lips, onto the floor, and shattered whatever image they were attempting to preserve. And with that silent admission, both parties were rendered silent. Allowing the melody from the speaker take over the car. 

We pulled in front of Tseng’s house and as Aerith started gathering her things, he said. “Actually, I have the early shift tomorrow, so I think I am going to turn in for the night.”

“It’s 7:30,” she argued. 

I looked at Reno, who was pretending to check himself out in the rearview mirror, but he ignored me. . 

“It is, isn’t it,” Tseng acknowledged with a nod, “I’ll see you later then. Thanks for the ride, Reno.”

“Yes, boss,” he grumbled. 

The door slammed shut, rattling everyone in the car for a moment. Aerith turned to the both of us still seated in the front seat. And with all her rage boiling over shouted.

“Is he  _ fucking _ serious right now?!”

I went to answer. But Reno made a grunt with his throat and shook his head. Before pushing through a fake smile and looking at the enraged girl in the backseat. 

“Hey chica, you wanna go smoke at the beach?”

“What’s up with your stupid fucking friend?” She countered.

But he shrugged, “No idea whatcha talkin’ about.”

She looked at me for support but I slunk in my seat- because my boyfriend made it clear with the pinched look in his almond shaped eyes that I needed to sew my lips shut- and I could  _ feel _ the way she threw her hands in the air. And heard her aggressive eye roll. As she leaned back in her seat and with a mumble, uttered, “Just fuckin’ take me home.”

“You got it, princess.”

I get mad at him sometimes for this night. Not that it was his fault, or that it really would have changed anything. I’m sure Tseng hardly remembers the event. I know Aerith hadn’t cared for a long time. But I caught glimpses of her in the mirror on our way to her dad’s house, her arms over her chest, eyes welling up with frustrated tears now, as she watched the scenery change from the edge of Tottenville to Grimes Hill. The budding street lights casting an unkind orange glow to her soft features. And I saw, in that moment, the lonely she felt. She never took out her phone to make alternative plans. To call Tifa, who, yes, was preoccupied with Rude, but would have instantly made her boyfriend drop everything to rush to Aerith’s side. And maybe she did, I never remember to ask, but I know...I didn’t drop Reno.

I bring this up when I want to fight him. I’ve used this day as a weapon; one I pluck from the mud like a rogue stone to throw at him when I feel like inflicting pain. Because I know he goes back to this day, a lot. And probably wishes he chose Aerith over Tseng. 

And I know I need to stop bringing this day up to him. Because that day wasn’t even the worst of it. But it’s the one I felt I had the most control over. I could have told Reno I wanted to spend time with Aerith when he pulled in front of her dad’s white stone mansion, dark and uninviting. I could have given him the choice to come in and let us vent about her relationship woes or he could come get me later when she finally felt the release of all the words she held in her chest. 

So much I could have said. And all that came out was a soft, “I’ll call you later?” 

And she slammed the door in response.

Reno didn’t even look at me on the whole ride, but he must have sensed my displeasure with his actions because instead of going towards the beach we went back home. My own eyes focused on the window, taking in the same scenery Aerith must have studied. The only sound dripped from the audio- and I no longer recall the songs playing on the CD but I remember when he reached for my hand, this time I snatched it away. Rested in on my lap to his huff. And when we pulled into the driveway, and no sooner did he kill the engine, did I turn to unleash the question boiling in the back of my throat for the fifteen minute drive.

“So what’s up with Tseng?”

“Nope,” he said. He unhooked himself from the seatbelt and started digging through the glove compartment for the parifinelia. My eyes ignited as I watched him slowly, meticulously, start rolling a blunt. 

“The fuck you mean, nope?”

“I ain’t doin’ this with you, babe.” His voice even, stern. Which, in other circumstances would have sent shivers down my spine and right to my groin. But I was hyper focused now. 

“You gotta give me something.”

“Nope.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yurp.” 

“Reno, you’re friend fuckin-”

The snap of his eyes onto me rendered me silent and I curled my lips in under his unamused glare. The tension from the back seat seemed to leak into the front of the car. I’m waiting for the fight that doesn’t come this time. Drop my eyes because I hate when he looks at me with such disappointment, and start fidgeting with the cuticles of my destroyed, black painted, nails. The radio was gone. Replaced with the  _ crinkle  _ his fingers maneuvering the brown paper. The sound reminded me how our plans were shot to shit. He wanted to be romantic and smoke at the beach. The only music from crashing of waves on sand and the hum of cars on the bridge. Watching the sun take her final descent beyond the horizon and let the darkness ink over us. 

But before I could really begin to hate myself, his hand brushed against my arm to get my attention. And while he wore a face of displeasure, his features softened. 

“I don’t want to get involved in other people’s relationships,” he stated after a beat of silent staring. “I don’t really like the idea of my best friend dating your best friend, or my cousin dating your childhood best friend. And it’s for exactly this reason. We’re gonna get thrown in the middle of their bullshit and I ain’t here for that.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I felt we were back at the beginning, where I interrogated him on Rufus Shinra’s slight obsession with me and in turn, Reno fought back on keeping the two groups separate. And look how well  _ that  _ turned out. So, I sat there with a blank expression, as he recalls, waiting for him to come up with some kind of solution to a problem I’m not sure even existed. They were my friends. How was I supposed to not be involved in their relationship? We went on dates together. We hung out with the same groups. Attended the same parties. He suggested I ignore any obvious signs of turmoil in my friend’s love life for the preservation of ours. Was that even a choice I had to make? 

When we go through this story together, he tells me my silence made him nervous. 

Which shocked me because Reno never gave off a sign of nerves in any situation. And sitting in the darkened car, outside the empty house, he remained a stone structure unmoved by my silence.

But on the inside, he felt something slipping, so he doubled down.

“The likelihood all three couples are going to make it past high school is highly unlikely and I’m trying to be the couple who makes it. So, could we agree to just leave their shit out of our lives? Your friends are your friends and my friends are mine. And we don’t get involved in their relationship and they ain’t involved in ours.”

His echoing of previous conversations held in basements didn’t quell any rising anxiety. But I couldn’t deny, at the time, he had a point. And maybe he saw a twitch of my own resolve breaking, so he moved in and cupped my chin so I could look into his eyes. Blue icicles I fell for the moment he ran them the length of my body. And I wondered how they could be so bright and dark at the same time. And like he could tell he had me under a spell, he ran that hand into my hair and pulled our lips together. 

How effortless. Just the touch of his tongue against mine could completely render me dumb. And even after all these years together, he still has that power over me. 

And when he pulled away, he breathed against my slightly parted lips, “All I give a shit about is you and getting off this shit island. You feel me?”

“Yeah,” I tentatively agreed, “I get it.”

And that was it. Conversation over. He ran his hand down my chest, grabbing onto the zipper of my hoody to drag it down and reveal the black shirt hiding underneath. And he made a suggestive inquisition on my parents whereabouts and the empty house to ourselves. Which effectively killed any concern I had for my friend sitting alone in her room wondering why her boyfriend entertained the flirtatious advances of other girls. Wondering why she didn’t capture his eye. Why he didn’t seem as enthralled by her. Comparing her relationship to mine. To Tifas. And feeling worse by the minute as all her imagined failures piled up in her mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!! Thank you for reading. Shout out to the Cleno discord channel. Getting to share my silly headcannons with you all have helped my inspiration!   
> Also, sorry for the catty dialog between Aerith and Elena. I am 100% for women supporting women, but this is a call out to the early 2000s culture of pitting girls against each other. It was hard dialog to write, somethings were probably shit I've said to other girls in the name of making myself look better. The shit you do when you're 17. Which, I have to keep reminding myself, these kids are teenagers, but the adult me keeps pushing forward like wanting to scold them.   
> Anyway, feed back is always appreciated and if you would like the link to the discord, leave a comment so I can send it to you! (since they apparently expire??)
> 
> OH P.S: I started a new story called Bury the Ring! Updates should happen Sundays for that fic and fridays for this one. Check it out!


	5. Now Playing: All Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I wish I was like you  
>  Easily amused  
> Find my nest of salt  
> Everything is my fault  
> I'll take all the blame  
> Aqua Sea Foam shame  
> Sunburn freezer burn  
> Choking on the ashes of her enemy_  
> "All Apologies" by Nirvana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/CW:  
> Sexual content.

We were dancing on a fine line between dedication and obsession, with no desire to address the issue we swore did not exist. We were pushing boundaries. Living together at that age, it was bound to happen. My parents attempted to establish terms and treated the situation the same way had Reno still been living with his family. Curfew 10:30- pushed up from 6, then 8, then 9:30 thanks to Reno’s negotiating. Doors stay open when we were together. And basement off limits unless we had friends over-- encouraged since it kept us away from the temptation of our beds. 

And as long as we kept up our grades

And worked, we could spend ridiculous amounts of time together. 

And even with these freedoms, we felt a need to challenge the flimsy rules. 

It was a Wednesday.

The air smelled of pumpkin and falling leaves. The window pushed open to allow a soothing breeze to prick along our wet bodies. The door opened a crack; just enough to hear for phantom footsteps ascending the stairs. But we had become privy to my parents schedule; and at this time, my mother was lulled asleep to the tune of  _ Law and Order  _ reruns and my dad was at his German club. Leaving Reno and I to explore our bodies under the safety of the covers. 

He had me on my back, my legs spread so he could move in me.

Slow and steady, working to increase his pace as I relaxed around his length. 

Try to capture the moans in my throat. Hush whispers of encouragement mix with grunts between kisses and sharp bites along my jaw. His voice deep as he groans my name into my ear to my nails running down his back. Marking my territory. 

And it’s hard to bury his name behind clenched teeth, so I don’t make a sound, when he fills every part of me to the brim. And a sudden buck of his hips hits a wall, I release one long shudder of a yelp that echoes off the walls-

And Reno slapped his hand over my mouth. Pulling himself to look at me. “Yo! Shit, you are so fuckin’ loud!” He harshly whispered through his wavering smile. 

Then he dragged his fingers over my lips so I could taste him. 

“You could choke me,” I sputtered through a quieter moan, “Wouldn’t that shut me up?”

His eyes darkened as he ran his hand down to my throat, testing my resolve with gentle taps of his fingers. Soft. And the twitch in his lips, I could tell he was toying with the idea. “Did I undercover the freak in my boyfriend?” He applied more pressure when I craned my neck to give him more access to my body. And he showered me with appreciation.

Increasing his pace-

Tightening his grip to stifle my gasps of pleasure…

And tickling my lips with his hushed thank yous for this gift of control.

_ Control _ .

Why was I so willing to give him all of me? It must be the shock, the way my body ignites when I am completely at his mercy. And I unraveled around him with one more long gasp, my back arched, trying to feel every part of his body as he shuddered. And released to the chorus of my name through the filtered of his teeth. 

And when we finished, he took his time to clean the mess we made. Taking frequent breaks between hot kisses I couldn’t seem to pull away from. 

“We should shower,” I murmured against his lips. 

“I think taking a shower at 10:20 would be suspicious.” He trailed his mouth along my jaw, leaving a gentle bite on my sore neck. 

“Mhm, good point.” 

Disappointment swelled as we came down from our high. After a few minutes of stroking my chest, Reno sat up and started reapplying the clothes we abandoned in the frenzy of foreplay. He slid to the edge of the bed but I grabbed his arm and weakly tugged him back. “Stay for a minute?” But I knew the futility of that request. Our time had come to an end. And my eyes grew heavy with sleep.

Still, despite these fleeting seconds, he hovered over me to run his fingers through my drenched hair. “Sorry, pretty boy.” He smiled down at me, and I truly loved these moments where he seemed so at ease. Content. 

“I see how it is. Fuck me then fuck off, right?”

He chuckled, “You got me. I’m only here for your tight ass.”

“It’s fine,” I sighed dramatically, “I’m only here for your huge dick.”

“Ah, see, we’re meant to be.” He planted one last long kiss. Mouths open to taste the remnants of ourselves. And when he pulled away, he reminded me this inconvenience of sleeping in separate beds would be temporary. “Soon, you’ll be sick of me always in your bed.”

“Doubtful.”

He kissed my forehead. His goodbye. “I love you, always.”

“Heh, and I love you, all the time.”

He left me. Throwing one more look, and the middle finger because he has to be an ass, and turned off my light before exiting the room. And I loved how he knew me so well, that my body was spent, borderline broken, there was no way I was remaining conscious for much longer. And I assumed, he would saunter back to his room, having dominated my body in several different ways and feeling quite proud of himself, and smoke a cigarette before turning in. 

But this night was different. 

And before Reno could reach the safety of his bedroom, my dad’s voice shattered through the air.

“Reno. Can you come down here, now?”

Reno recalled unleashing a silent  _ fuck _ and waiting a beat to move. He peered over the staircase, and could see orange light emitting from the kitchen casting shadows along the living room floor. He looked back at my room, apparently, second guessing if he should alert me to my father’s presence or just take the brunt of whatever lecture Bastian Strife prepared. He chose the latter. He would tell me, later on in our lives, he didn’t want to stress me out. Figured, he thought, if my father was truly displeased with our actions, he would have called for me aswell. So he left me out, again. 

Swallowing tension, Reno tried to fix his hair so at least it wouldn’t look too obvious, and strolled down the stairs with his hands tight in his pockets and a weary smile on his face. When he entered the room, my father was sitting at the table, still in his work suit, tapping his fingers along the wood. The red-head couldn’t read the expression on my dad’s face. He remembered my dad looking at him, though, not averting his eyes- and Reno felt a crushing sense of judgement crawling along his spine. But he remained unyielding, and returned the tight look. 

“What are you doing sneaking out of my son’s room at this hour?” Bastian inquired with a heavy tone of accusations woven within his words. 

Reno made a whole show of looking at the clock on the stove. “It’s before 10:30.” He retorted. And while he no longer remembered the exact time, the unamused stare from my father’s piercing blue-green eyes suggested Reno stop acting like a comedian. So, he leaned against the threshold on the kitchen and tried to force his most convincing tone. “We were watchin’ T.V and fell asleep, man, you know.”

“Yeah, I know what boys your age do.”

But Reno, also, couldn’t help himself. “Uh...pass out while watching  _ Lost _ ?”

“Reno. I’m not stupid. And I would appreciate it if you stopped treating me as such in my own house.”

_ Cringe _ . Reno tried to hide the flinch rattling through his face by dropping his eyes to the tiled floor. The clear disappointment in Bastian’s words hit Reno differently. He’s been on the receiving end of that tone before; and usually those words would follow stark reminders of Reno’s failures and shortcomings. And the eyes bearing down on him looked of his own, and he could even hear them in his own voice. But they rolled off him, usually. Like the armor he spent years building protected him from stones slung from parent’s tongue. When his father unleashed his last tirade, Reno claimed he didn’t even acknowledge the rant. 

Standing in my kitchen, under my father’s tense stare and soft sigh, he felt his cheeks burn. At the time, he brushed it off as hot embarrassment for having got caught engaging in some x-rated activities in basically a stranger’s home. But even that seemed false. 

“What am I going to do?” my dad mumbled to no one now. Reno couldn’t meet his eyes, and continued to find reflected imperfections along the floor. My dad continued, “I can’t have teengers having sex under my roof. You have to understand. It’s inappropriate.”

It felt like another knick from a stray rock. “Yes, sir,” Reno mumbled. 

“I like you Reno, I do. You care about Cloud and do right by him. But you two keep testing the waters and you’re not going to like the consequences.” He paused and an unusual feeling welled in the pit of Reno’s stomach. “I don’t want to kick you out.” 

At this, Reno finally met my father’s look. And he noticed despite Bastian’s displeased voice, his eyes were soft. 

“I don’t want you living on the street. And even if I can find you alternative living arrangements, you and I both know my son will lose his mind if I send you away.” he shook his head, “So I figure my only option is talk to you man to man and hope you don’t push me to re-evaluate options one and two.” My dad waited for Reno to nod, ensuring the boy listened this time. “You two are too serious and moving entirely too fast. But I am also a realist and know it is impossible to tell two teenage boys to stop having sex. But, see this from my point of view. That is my child up there. My son. You are a guest. I am asking you to show my wife and I some respect and keep it in your pants at least while we are home. Come on.”

“Sorry, sir.” Reno mumbled. His chest tight. 

This was the first time, he would tell me, he felt a wave of guilt washing over him. Though part of him felt annoyed at the enforcement of the rule; it also motivated him. Four months until he turned eighteen, and rushed to save money so he could move into an apartment and no longer be under  _ anyone’s _ roof but his own. And he’d take me with him. 

Now, as adults, when he told me his master plan we both broke down in loud laughter that had even our therapist concerned. The whole idea of moving in at  _ eighteen and seventeen _ is just so fucking typical of teenagers. How we romanticized this idea of playing house before we were even old enough to consume alcohol legally. We couldn’t even vote yet. And Reno’s making plans to spring us from this privileged prison and ride off into the sunset. No idea how to pay bills, or do taxes, or cook. Or survive. 

And maybe my dad had seen the way Reno’s eyes darted to avoid him again. And the gears turning in his head as he started solving the Math problem of how much money we would need to live on our own. And maybe because my dad was eighteen once, he knew exactly what Reno was plotting. 

“Take a seat,” Bastian offered, kicking the chair next to him to capture Reno’s attention. The red-head arched a brow, but my father encouraged him to sit down. “I don’t bite. I want to chat about something else…”

Reno, though done speaking to adults, couldn’t help the spark of intrigue. So he took the seat. Arms over his chest. “What else you got for me, B-man?”

Bastian shrugged, “Just wanted to check in. You haven’t been around lately and I wanted to catch up.”

Reno hesitated. Didn’t realize it then but his eyes dropped to a narrowed glare as he toyed my father’s words through his head. No one, ever,  _ checked in _ on him. No news was good news in his family; they stayed out of each other’s way unless someone ignited the wrath of the elder Sinclair. And usually, Reno stroked the flame whether intentional or not. But he shook it off- this was  _ Cloud’s dad _ , not his. And  _ Cloud’s dad, _ at worst, was using the guide of being interested with Reno’s day to get more intel on his son. At best...the guy actually gave a shit about him; which seemed so out of the realm of possibility for Reno. 

“Just working. Saving up money,” he answered.

“You work every day it feels like,” Dad observed. “When’s your next day off?”

“Supposed to be today but I picked up a shift ‘cause someone called out. Tryin’ to work as much as I can ‘cause I’m taking the Sunday and Monday of Halloween off.” 

“Hm,” my dad pondered. “Between work and school, have you had time to look at Colleges?”

There it was, Reno thought. Now that I got a job, thanks to Reno’s urging, Bastian had one more concern gnawing at the back of his head. 

“Here and there,” Reno lied. He heard things through broken conversations in school. He nearly failed the college letter assignment in his English class, if I hadn’t basically written his story for him. And his guidance counselor attempted to sit him down to discuss his options on numerous occasions and Reno effectively dodged her up until then. 

“Any ideas?” 

“I don’t know.” He gritted his teeth. “Thinkin’ of just taking some time off to save up money before I do anything.”

And at this admission, my dad sat up straight in his chair. “Oh? This is a new development.”

“Is it, man?” Reno countered, “How am I affordin’ college right now? I don’t got rich parents to pay my way anymore.”

“You can apply for scholarships and grants.'' Dad offered, “There’s options for people in your situation. Financial aid?”

But Reno waved every option off, “I don’t even know what the fuck I wanna do.”

“If college isn’t your thing...there’s trade schools and city jobs. You could have a successful career without attending college. You just have to be motivated and dedicated-”

Reno tuned my dad out at this point and stared, eyes glazed over with boredom, just beyond Bastian’s shoulder, to the picture hanging over the stove. He had passed this picture several times since he found himself walking through these walls. But never registered the words. 

_ Bless the food before us, _

_ The family besides us, _

_ And the love between us. _

And he held a laugh in his chest for the ridiculous statement. And how little family ever meant to him. And how the only way he knew the meaning of the word love, was currently sleeping in a room several feet away from his. And those terms- family and love- never seemed to fit. Like puzzle pieces from different pictures trying to force themselves into place until they crumble and rip from the pressure. He didn’t know what the big deal was with family...why the people who occupied the same walls as him should hold so much importance?

“We could help you.”

My dad’s voice snatched him back to their conversation. And Reno stared at him perplexed as if the words were a different language.

“With tuition,” my dad continued, “or...living expenses. Anything.”

“Why?” 

“Well, Cloud has a trust fund that comes out in increments. The first comes out when he graduates to pay for college. So, he’s taken care off. We have extra...we can set up something for you as well…”

First, the house with his own private room complete with amenities. .

Now, the car with the sweet stereo system. 

Now, Bastian wanted to pay for Reno’s higher education.

“Why?” Reno repeated with more uncertainty. 

“I think you deserve a shot to figure out your dreams. Get the whole college experience. I don’t know...you need help and we have the means to help.”

“I don’t  _ need  _ help,” Reno snapped. Though, he was full of shit. Because he was teetering on a ledge of homelessness with one wrong move. And the only reason he didn’t have to bus it to school or work, cutting down on his travel time, was the help he received in the form of the vehicle. No, Reno  _ needed _ and benefitted from the help he received from my parents. But he couldn’t admit that fact to himself. Let alone to the man in front of him. He couldn’t even acknowledge that help he truly needed extended far beyond material items and money. 

“Reno, I’m not trying to offend you…”

“I know, but, shit, what if I want to stay at Starbucks? They said I could be a manager eventually. And that’s a full time gig with benefits and shit. Plus, once school is done, I’m going to do both the pool and the shop. I can live on my own by June and it won’t matter anymore.”

Dad took in his words. And then nodded, “So, you want to stay on this island for the rest of your life.”

_ Ugh _ , Reno thought. He got him. “No. But, I’ll save up enough so by the time Cloud graduates college, we will be in a good enough position to move somewhere else.”

“Right, right, and what’s Cloud’s plan? What colleges has he been looking at?”

“Uhm. I…don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it too much…”

“Hm, a lot of plans you are making without talking about them with your partner.”

It was strange, Reno told me. For the first time, Bastian Strife had a point. Reno and I kept the conversations on our future to a minimum. We daydreamt about our lives after college. Living away from Staten Island, with the dog, and the good jobs neither of us could really envision at that moment. But college. College was this abstract monster we couldn’t wrap our heads around. I didn’t even know what I wanted to do. All these ideas swarmed in my head like a flock of birds and none seemed accessible- or even tangible. Reno...had different reasons for avoiding the topic. Instead, focused all his attention on his one goal: make money. 

And now, he realized his goal only included him. He had no idea what I wanted to do. 

And my dad saw the withdrawn distress in Reno’s eyes. “Look, I’m not saying working at Starbucks is a bad thing, if that’s really- truly- what you want to do. There’s no disrespect in pursuing a service industry job. But I don’t want you to walk this path because you think there aren’t other options. If going to College is something you want to do, we can help make that happen. Okay?”

Reno shrugged, at first, then nodded. 

“With that said, either way- if you decide to stay here and work or go to school- you need to discuss this with Cloud….and tell him he needs to go away for College.”

“What?”

“Nowhere  _ too _ far...driving distance is fine but...he needs to get off this place and forge his own path. And he won’t do that unless you encourage him.”

I hate to admit, but my dad was right. And I think Reno knew that- and on the rare occurrence college was mentioned, the idea would be to go to different schools. But in the same state. But that’s not what my dad wanted to hear.

“What if,” Reno started, “he wants to go to a school in New York? Am I supposed to tell him not to?” 

“Just...suggest an alternative.”

Reno rolled his eyes with a bitter chuckle.  _ So this is the real reason he wanted to talk _ , he cursed in his head.

And after a pause, my dad pushed forward. “Reno. As I said, I like you. And I believe at the end of the day, you want what’s best for Cloud. Well, I want what’s best for the both of you. You two are young. Too young. You are not going to be able to flourish if you can’t live apart from each other.

“It’s as if you are two seedlings. If you’re planted too close together, you will rob each other of the water you need to survive. But, if you’re planted in, say, different pots, you will be able to grow stronger and more capable.”

Reno blinked several times. “Really? A plant metaphor.”

Dad dropped his shoulders, “I’ve been gardening a lot with Claudia lately.”

“Leave the metaphors and symbolism to your son.” Reno huffed and looked away, “So, you want me to dump Cloud before we go to college so he’ll leave or something?’

“No, not at all. I don’t want you two to break up. If you are meant to be, you’ll be able to weather any storm that comes your way. Including, living in, perhaps, different states for a while. But if you’re more concerned that the only way Cloud would even consider a different college would be to break up with him...then I ask you to think about this. Do you two really want what’s best for each other- or are you both too codependent to see a life outside your relationship? And if the latter is the case, then you have bigger problems.”

_ Co-dependant.  _

_ Relationship. _

_ Problem. _

Reno didn’t respond, but something shocked him. And he sat there, stewing in those words well after my dad left him- with a “think about it” and a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The weight of the implications sewed through each syllable cemented him to the seat. And they followed him…

When he eventually left the kitchen, throwing one last look at the picture hanging over the stove. 

And they rested with him when he laid on the bed that wasn’t  _ his _ \- like unwanted companions, tossing and turning. 

Until his eyes flew open to the blinding Fall light, the words my father dropped clung to him like a shadow. 

And sometimes, I feel like they followed him ever since. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on this chapter for like a week in an effort to write more of the next chapter/procrastinating because I am replaying the remake right now. Anyway, updating now so I don't have to work out. Hope you enjoyed this and sorry it short!


	6. Now Playing: The Shape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Separate, I've lost my only way  
>  See the shape, broken and thrown away_  
> "The Shape- Slipknot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Toxic family relationships.

Reno’s shift in attitude towards college didn’t immediately set off alarm bells. He followed along with the same script all seniors rehearsed, and I never inquired about his sudden interest in continuing his education. And while we didn’t breach the subject of  _ where _ ,  _ how  _ became the bigger question to answer. 

The first and, in my opinion, easiest hurdle was the college essay. While he passed the assignment with a strained C, and cautious look from his English teacher, College admissions would deem his story as forgettable. The same tired tale from all athletes. How the sport shaped their identity and proved their motivation and resilience during turbulent times. And maybe, if Reno had been able to continue to play uninterrupted Sophomore and Junior year, and maybe if his future didn’t hinge on potential scholarships and grants, the generic “Baseball is my life” lie of a paper would be worth something. But every word needed to grab the attention of the soulless human entity guiding their weary eyes through piles and piles of letters. He needed to stand out from the plethora of applicants. And he had the story. Buried underneath more lies he told himself to maintain stability. 

“God, your face,” he snapped. He stood in my room, arms over his chest with his own  _ face _ looking just about as annoyed as mine. I remained on my bed, scanning his third attempt at writing. “I don’t see what’s wrong with what I wrote.”

“First off, what  _ I  _ wrote,” I corrected, “ and it’s disingenuous. You talk about baseball the whole time.”

“So? I play baseball.”

“Yeah but you don’t even address the obstacles you faced, like breaking your arm-”

But he waved me off before I could finish. And I sighed, “You could...write about coming out?”

“Are you fucking serious?” And the look in his eyes screamed louder than the words he buried under a growl. “I didn’t ‘come out,’ I was kicked out of the closet. Twice.”

And I could counter with how so was I, and by  _ him _ , but I swallowed that down like a bad shot. “There’s a story there about resilience and perseverance. It will make you stand out from the rest of the baseball bros.” But he rolled his eyes as if the idea was completely asinine and I mumbled, “That’s what I’m writing about.” 

A twitch in his left eye. Something new then but a look I became accustomed to after thirteen years together. “You’re going to write about how your boyfriend outed you to the main villain of your story, or whatever.”

“I may have taken some creative liberties.” Like leaving out his role. “And bold of you to assume Rufus is the main villain when it’s obviously Sephiroth.”

“What am I?” He tried to smirk, but his frown weighed down by his uncertainty. 

“Chaotic neutral fuck boy.” 

He made a  _ psh _ sound and flopped on my bed. Eyes on the ceiling. Far away. Any other time, probably would have gotten a snarky response. Maybe even agreement. But his presence in the conversation seemed fleeting. Drawn back by the knowledge lurking in the dark recesses of his mind. The story on the tip of his tongue, the one which would set him apart from the waterfall of applications seeking scholarships, burned every time he tried to force his voice to give it life. It sat on the pen. Weighed his fingers down on keyboards. He couldn’t find the chords to loosen his throat- the story got lodged there like a bullet. Even telling me would be admitting something he tried to forget. 

“I could write it for you- how you came back from an arm injury to play at a new school. And though you couldn’t finish that season, you never gave up. I could leave out...the how and the why..”

But he scowled. “I wish...being gay wasn’t the most interesting thing about me.”

I tried to go over the list--of every interesting part of him:

The way his voice curved along the accent he tries to bury.

The two turbulent oceans of eyes with thin frames in perpetual suspicion. 

The math he recited with effortless conviction. And how he could still hit a fast ball across the universe. How he refused to be crushed by the weight world’s rejection. 

But he told me my reasons were only poetry. 

And no one cared about his voice, that was music only to me.

And his eyes should be on guard, waiting for the masks of those around us to crack.

And I’m only impressed by his Math because I can’t make numbers sound as beautiful as words. And the rest are hyperboles. 

We tabled the conversion for another day. 

Reno, instead, turned his focus on the more tangible matters. The paperwork. Which brought him to the realization he lacked his birth certificate and social security card; left behind in the chaos of his exit from the Sinclair home. His cousin had managed to steal his passport so he was able to get the jobs, but he didn’t have a valid New York license which would grant him in-state tuition. He couldn’t get one without the other which meant he couldn’t replace the missing items- easily. And the New York DMV was already hell and being before online transactions, the road seemed piled with boulders he would need to crack to get through. 

And as the deadline to early admission approached, he found himself on the phone with his mother. 

He never went into detail about how the conversation went between them. He told me he couldn’t remember her words. But he remembered the  _ bothered  _ tone. The  _ annoyed _ influxes and  _ rushed  _ syntaxes. She never admitted to having the items he needed. She  _ assured _ him with a huff she would look, but- _ so sure they weren't there _ . And he gripped the phone, the one my parents forced him to accept as a gift, until he could feel it start to crack and tried to turn his voice into razor blades that could cut her; but they dulled under her indifference. To her son.

Then she hung up, with a  _ don’t call again _ . 

And he threw the phone across his bedroom where it smacked and bounced against the sliding glass door- and he couldn’t tell if he was relieved it didn’t shatter or disappointed. 

I was at work when this event happened- arguing with two teenage girls who tried telling me  _ 30 Seconds to Mars _ was better than  _ My Chemical Romance _ . However, my mother heard everything. She stood by the staircase during his conversation and sprinted to the kitchen when she heard the phone hit the door; trying to busy herself with something so Reno wouldn’t suspect her eavesdropping when he came stomping down the flight of stairs to go to work- sans his phone.

But she also couldn’t help herself. Even now. And she’s probably the only person who can get away with that. 

Before he flew out the door, she jumped into the living room holding an unused spatula. “Hey!” Her voice so carbonated bubbly, Reno halted. Took a breath to calm the lines of his face. And turned around. “Off to work, huh?”

“Yeah,” he relaxed his tone, “Working till 10 today so I won’t be around for dinner.”

“Bummer!” she waved the spatula, “I was going to make something this time!”

They shared a cautious chuckle. 

She dressed like Spring. Like the flowers she planted outside to make her hands choose life over poison. That day, it was a pink velour sweat suit. Her gold hoop earrings. Hair with chunky caramel highlights along the brown locks which hid the natural blonde. There was something disarming about Claudia; and it both drew Reno towards her like a moth searching for warmth...and frightened him. 

“So,” she looked up at the ceiling, then back at him in dramatic fashion, “Everything kosher?”

“Hardly,” he spat, and tried to wave her off the same way he brushed off me and my father, “It’s whatever. Nothing you gotta worry about.”

“Oh?” Her eyes pressed into him, softer than the hard glare of Bastian. Softer than any eyes he’d been subjected to in the past. Something innocent swirled in my mother’s greys; an innocence he wanted to protect he would tell me when we revisited this conversation. 

“Yeah, just, can’t find my birth certificate and social security card so,” he shrugged, “just...trying to figure out a day to go to the DMV and see if I can get them replaced.”

“I see...you think they’re back there?” she nodded towards the yard. 

“I called...they don’t have it. But, it’s chill. I’ll figure something out- I always do.” A wink and a weak smirk. “So, you’re cooking huh? Whatcha making?”

“Oh, ha, yes, I’m making... Uhm. something special! A surprise even.”

“Right….” he opened the door, “I’ll take a chicken and broccoli if it’s Chinese, sausage and pepper toppings if pizza.”

“Jerk!” She called after him, but he just waved goodbye as the door slammed behind him.

And Reno went to work.

Placed the interaction with his mother on the shelf behind all the other unpleasant conversations to collect cobwebs. Didn’t even bother retelling it when I stopped by his job on the way out from mine. His mind already a mausoleum of miserable memories- what’s the point in visiting?

But while Reno could roll his eyes and wish it all away. My mother couldn’t and she placed all the broken pieces of conversation into a frame to see the whole picture. Then decided this transgression would not go unpunished. 

* * *

Our mothers’ interactions started and ended with Veld Nomura. He was a mouth piece for both women when the terms of guardianship were established. Rows of legal jargon Claudia and Bastian failed to translate to the two of us- I guess either subconsciously or purposely to spare Reno from any more of the trauma associated with this transition. The dad’s met in person. And the feeling of malcontent was mutual, for sure. And despite being backyard neighbors, the Strifes and the Sinclairs managed to avoid each other. 

Now Claudia Strife, the once drunk and stumbling matriarch, walked with the narrow line focused. She played the upcoming scene in her head. Memorized the lines. Studied the exchange like a choreographed dance. She imagined banging on the black and gold front doors; bursting through the threshold like an uncontrolled firecracker, screaming demands to release her son’s-no not her son, she corrected-release the papers. And the woman behind the door would be so frightened by the spark from violent eyes, she would have no choice but relinquish the documents. 

She stomped up the stone stairs. 

Curled her hand into a fist. 

_ Boom _

_ Boom _

_ Boom. _

The sound echoed across the nearly vacant hallways like the hum of a bomb. And after a few tense moments of silence, while she mouthed her opening line, the click of heels from behind the wall rose to life. 

And the door swung open with the force of a hurricane. The woman with her hand still on the gold knob lowered her light blue eyes onto my mother. This was the first time they stood face to face. And everything about the woman before her screamed cold. The black turtleneck up to her chin. The skirt with black tights with not a single sign of lint or dirt. Hair pulled back into a firm ponytail. All only accentuated the porcelain white of her skin- and like her touch would chill your soul. 

“Claudia,” she spat. 

“Evangeline,” my mother responded with equal venom. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your intrusion?”

Claudia grinded her teeth over all the words she wanted to say. Before pushing forth a fake smile. “Well, as  _ you know _ , the boys are looking at colleges now.” She paused for a reaction. For  _ something _ . But Evangeline offered her the same bored huff of air that she gave her son earlier. “ _ And _ , I know Reno is stressin’ out because he can’t find some of those legal documents  _ you were supposed to provide us  _ the last time we discussed the transition-”

“I told him,” she interjected, “I don’t have what he’s looking for. Mr. Nomura took everything at his last visit-”

“And that’s the issue, because he told  _ us _ you were still looking for Reno’s birth certificate and social.”

“I didn’t have the time to look through my papers.” She rolled her eyes. “They could be anywhere.”

My mother would later note this interaction as one of the reasons she regretted not going by the books with the termination of parental rights and filing of guardianship. But Reno and I begged them not to- because then it would just be too fucking weird. And she grumbled curses at being so easily persuaded by two teenagers, before returning her attention to the statuesque woman making slow attempts to shut the door in my mother’s face. 

“I could look,” Claudia offered, trying to soften her smile into something more  _ inviting _ . 

“That won’t be necessary-”

“I mean, if you are  _ too busy _ to look around, I would be happy to find them myself.”

“Absolutely not, now if you excuse me, I have to go.”

She went to slam the door. But my mother returned the favor by immersing herself in the threshold of the home, hand on the wood, foot on the tiled floor, halting any advancement. Her eyes boiled with checked anger, as she dropped her lips into a dangerous frown and pointed her glare directly into Evangeline’s soulless eyes. 

“You listen to me,” Claudia growled, “You may think you run this city, but you  _ have no idea how far and wide, and high and fucking low,  _ my connections run. I’m coming into this house. I am going to look for  _ your son’s _ paperwork so he can go to college and get off this god forsaken island. Now we can do this one of two ways. The easy way- where you grant me the pleasure of entering this fucking tomb and let me do what I gotta do. Or the hard way….and I’m not sure if you really want the hard way.”

“I’ll call the police and say you’re trespassing on my property.” She countered. . 

“Go ahead, you don’t know how many friends I have there...” Claudia took out the cell phone in her pocket she finally remembered to bring, “or better yet, why don’t I just call Elias right now and just explain the situation. See if he can’t help us come to an understanding.” 

“Fine!” the other woman snapped. Releasing her hold on the door and throwing her hands in defeat, “Do what you need to do. Just make it quick.”

My mother smiled in satisfaction. She knew throwing around the Borough President’s name would elicit the response she wanted- even if the name cut at her throat and robbed her of dignity every-time she was forced to use it. Claudia pushed her way into the mansion. She recalled the frost which ran through her bones. Every sound bouncing off bare white walls. Not a single photo of the family in the lobby she stood in. Just the grand staircase winding up to the second floor and looking like it belonged in a prison. Or a museum. Everything placed with perfect precision. The small silver table with a plain black vase and giant painting of Scottish ships hanging over a gaudy looking chiffonier. She knew there was a child somewhere on the premises, but no evidence of warmth, or color, or laughter, emerged. 

It reminded her of the mansion of her youth. The one she currently inhabited. And did everything in her power to make into a home. 

The heels began to click-clack away, and my mother swung around. “Hey! Can I have a hint at least?”

Evangeline sighed. Long. Tense. As if weighing the options of helping my mom on his quest. “Check the attic.” And the darkness swallowed her. 

Left to her own devices, my mother trudged up the stairs, muttering curses in her first language, all the way to the farthest end of the house, where a newly painted white door blended in with the rest of the house- the knob also white- as if done intentionally. She fought with the wood. Like it was fused shut so no one would be able to open. After a few loud  _ fucks  _ she hoped the women below would hear, she managed to gain entry. A neglected set of stairs welcomed her. The dust. The cobwebs. The smell, she noted, like mothballs laid in the sun. And like the rest of the house, the attic was impossibly cold. And despite being the afternoon, felt impossibly dark.

Claudia navigated the exposed floor with nails jetting from the wood like they were trying to escape. The dust hung in the air like a curtain. One she had to wave her hand in front of to make her way through the uncharted territory. A graveyard of discarded items. Old furniture. Decorations for holidays they never really celebrate. Some portraits fading against the only window. Apparently not worthy to be put on display. Tucked away. Hidden. To be forgotten.

And after the fifth time she slapped a bug off her outfit. 

And the fourth time she walked into a spider’s home. 

And the third disembodied noise that sent her soul to God-

And the second box of mold she stumbled over…

She wanted to give up. 

Sweaty and smelling of the dead. She considered calling Elias anyway. Make him shift through these people’s garbage. 

And that made her want a cigarette…

And a drink.

When the thought crawled in her head, like the house centipede crawling around her foot, she felt like a failure. 

A sigh of defeat fell past her lips. 

But as she walked towards the open door, where the light from the hallway beckoned her to safety, something caught her eye. As if highlighted by the lone window which overlooked her backyard. A box. Fresh. It didn’t curve from moisture and mildew. Tucked away under some of the melting Renaissance era fakes. She strolled over and tentatively touched the cardboard to pull it out of its hiding spot. Not even closed to protect it from the elements. She pushed open the flaps…

And her heart sank. 

And broke. 

On the top of the rest of the photos, a picture of the boy currently sleeping in her guest room, at least seven years younger. With a big smile showing off the prominent canines and pushing his eyes into a pinched stare which only made him look more sinister--cute sinister, she chuckled to herself. The hair, not red, more of a hazy brown with some auburn highlights. Small blue eyes. Pure blue. Filled to the brim with innocence. So different than the eyes she encountered earlier in the day- cut with so much buried agony. 

She gently placed the picture back in the box, and moved around the other contents. 

And she counted in her head, every.single.picture of Reno. School pictures. Baby pictures. Photos of him and his cousin, Rude, when the latter still had hair. Old report cards from Tennessee. And underneath all those tossed memories: the birth certificate and social security card. Just sitting there. Slightly worn and torn. 

Claudia closed the box. Sat there for a minute. Realizing she held back tears. Thought for a moment, at least they didn’t completely throw them out. Or burn them. Ran her tongue behind her teeth which suddenly clenched. It took a second, but she gathered the box in her arms and carefully made her way down the staircase. It wasn’t heavy. But it felt like it weighed her down as she traveled throughout the house. She could have just left...the moment presented itself when she made it back to the lobby. Door closed but the outside called for her. 

To this day, she doesn’t know why she did it…

She found Evangeline in an office, thumbing through some papers on the mahogany desk. The other woman didn’t even lift her eyes when my mother kicked the door with her shoe to gain her attention. 

“So...I found it,” Claudia said. 

“Okay,” she flicked her eyes for a second. Not a trace shock when she saw the box in my mother’s hand. 

“It’s in here,” my mother shook the contents and waited a beat for a response that never came. “You know...all his baby pictures are in here…”

“Yes.”

“Uhm, if it doesn’t matter to you...I’ll just take the whole thing? I think it would be cute to give him a photo album before he leaves for college. You know…?”

Claudia counted her own breaths.

Five. Slow and controlled. 

To the silence of the woman before her who barely moved.

Finally, a shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”

Nothing more to say. Claudia mumbled an  _ oh _ and took her leave. Wondering why she thought the woman, who resembled her own mother so much, would be any different. 

* * *

Hours past before I dragged my body through the threshold of my house. Beaten by the two buses and thirty minute walk in Friday rush hour traffic- all for a pathetic four hour shift at $7.25 an hour. I heard the music first- 80s hair metal, mom’s favorite- and I wandered into the kitchen- hoping for food- but encountering my mother dramatically throwing herself over a box as if she could hide it behind her small frame. 

We stared at each other. 

“Whatcha got there, ma?”

“Nothing.”

All I had to do was roll my eyes into my head from her ridiculous attempt at a lie and she sighed. “It’s a box of Reno’s stuff…”

“Word?” I walked around to her. The box rested in the middle while several sets of pictures spread across the table. 

Reno’s past, the one he kept hidden, laid before me. 

Without thinking, I ran my finger through the soft photos---and it felt...strange. Like I wasn’t looking at Reno at his 8th grade graduation, or Reno in his baseball uniform posing for the camera, or Reno as a kid in his Catholic School’s uniform. His face, bright. The smile nearly genuine. The round face and freckles splashed across his cheeks. The light brown strands of hair with ripples of muted vermillion. He looked like a stranger. Someone from another life I never met-

How little I knew of him…

And then my hand rested on the photo from Junior year. 

And the boy who I fell in love with-

Hair the color of cherries...the smirk that could destroy lives with a flick.

And eyes so dark blue. Cold and angry. 

“What should I do?” My mom asked with deep concern. “Do you think he’d want these?”

“I really don’t know, mom.” I moved around a few more pictures until I found his newborn photo, “oh shit, he was a fugly baby.”

“Cloud Strife! That’s your life partner you are talking about!” She shrieked with a rough slap to my shoulder. “You weren’t that cute either when you first came out!” But the scrunched face she made and the weak conviction told me otherwise. “And stop touching everything. I’m trying to organize it by year.”

I shook my head as she returned to her task, ignoring her scolding and moved a few more items listlessly until I curled my fingers around a photo of Reno- pre-red hair- standing next to a group of boys in tuxedos. They all looked young, maybe fourteen or fifteen, standing in front of a limo near a large mansion. And right next to him, just a tad too close to my boyfriend, a boy with a weak, terrified smile, and thick auburn hair looking like he was trying to make himself invisible. 

And that...must have been Rodrick. The prick who ruined Reno’s life. 

I cocked my head to analyze the small image. I admit, in my younger years I occasionally tried to hunt down Reno’s elusive first love on Social Media. All I had was a first name and a general area. I didn’t even know the school Reno went to, if it even was the same as his ex-boyfriend. I didn’t recall the names of the other boys in the photo, with their smug smiles, and manicured faces. Every one of them a mystery I wanted to uncover. Especially Rodrick standing front and center who I could recognize without even having an inkling of his looks. I saw what laid behind those trembling eyes. Some faux innocence. 

And I would meet this guy years from this moment. Hear the squeak of his voice. Witness the gaslighting first hand. And would continue to blame him for the rest of his life for all the shit Reno went through and will go through…

But in 2005, in my parent’s kitchen, I decided to take this photo and hide it from my boyfriend. No use in his having to relive all his struggles in the form of photographic evidence. I folded it up, tucked it in my pocket without my hyper focused mother noticing. 

“Any big plans today,” she asked without looking, “I’m ordering Chinese, will you be around?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. I might go to the movies with the squad so…” My voice trailed off. Before I left the mall, I inquired about going to the movies with everyone, but in his frustration, Reno aggressively declined and told me to go on my own. Which I knew I could… but seeing the spread on the table...putting the pieces of his sour mood together, I couldn’t think of leaving him alone- even if he didn’t ask for my company. “Have fun with this…” I added.

“Oh, I am! Wait till I pull out your photos!” Claudia smiled and winked, but I didn’t exactly share her enthusiasm. 

Went upstairs with the promise of checking in during dinner and flopped on my bed. Pulled the photo out one last time. Studied Reno. Felt a hitch in my heart as I examined the lines of his face; how similar they were and yet so foreign. His lips curved into a half smirk. Eyes heavy like he smoked a blunt- and judging from a couple of the other guys in the photo- perhaps true. 

And all I wanted...was to know every single part of him.

Reno stumbled into the house at 10:30 after working the busiest time of the week- the Friday afternoon rush of tired moms, teens, and young adults getting ready to party for the weekend. And his mind buzzed with the orders he fulfilled, he forgot about the whole interaction with his mother earlier in the day as he shut the door, tossed the keys on the table, and dreamt of crawling into his bed to wallow under the covers until his eyes drifted close to a dreamless sleep. 

But of course, he was intercepted before he could sneak up the stairs by a petite woman holding something behind her back. 

“Avoiding me are you?” My mom joked. 

“Ah, never, even if I wanted to,” he smirked.

She extended one hand, “Chicken and broccoli as requested.” 

“You spoil me, Cee.” He goes to take the food but stops when he notices the two pieces of laminated papers on top. The missing birth certificate and social security card. He would tell me...those documents weren’t lamented when he left them- that much he remembered. They were tucked away somewhere in his parent’s office. Buried under stacks of discarded papers, he recalled. Now, they rested on top of a cooling Chinese food container, slightly restored and protected from the elements. 

“I found them,” she said weakly, still holding the items and trying to read the look in Reno’s eyes. 

He finally brought them too her, arched a brown eyebrow, “Did you...break into my old place?”

“What! No! I was invited in!”

Narrowed his glare, “Were you? Really? You sure about that?”

“Yes!” She huffed and pushed the container into his chest until he accepted it. “Gosh, I do something nice and all I get are accusations.”

“Just want to make sure the cops ain’t comin’.” He presented the statement like a joke, but a serious tone laid underneath his jest. “But, uhm, thank you for getting these. It’ll make shit easier.” 

“Of course! Anything I can do to help!”

Reno didn’t know how to accept someone’s kindness; waiting for the strings attached to reveal themselves. A common theme throughout his life- and I always thought intense untrust was a New York thing. But Reno embodied that stereotype like he lived here his all life. However...even then, he knew Claudia Strife, in all her flaws, would never turn against him. But his Southern hospitality was out of practice, and he dropped his eyes and mumbled another swift  _ Thank you _ , and tried to back up to the stairs. 

“And uh, that’s not all,” she said with a hint of caution. She beckoned him to the kitchen. The mess she created hours ago transformed into a memorial of Reno’s past. On the table, set up in rows, all the school photos enclosed in fresh frames, wiped clean so the glass glimmered in the artificial light. The candid photos, the ones from when he was newly born, tucked away in a photo album she had resting on top of an album dedicated to me. She toyed with her fingers as he moved his eyes along the edges of each image...wondering if he’d even seen these photos before. 

Or even...the person in them…

“I was thinking,” she started as she took out a box of other photos and placed them on the seat so Reno could see. “Cloud has a bunch of these ‘picture day’ photos that I...never got around to hanging up. I wanted to hang up all of them...yours too...on the wall between your rooms. You can see how much you’ve aged in fourteen years. I don’t know. Just something in my head I wanted to run by you…”

Reno pulled his eyes away from the stranger on the table; suddenly sensing a foreign pain poking through his chest. And turned his focus to the other cold blue eyes. He would tell me, the first picture on the stack, of me in kindergarten with a  _ Barney _ sweater vest and green button down and smiling this deranged serial killer-like smile, momentarily made the hurt he felt go away. And, like me earlier in the day, he mindlessly looked through each photo of me. Smiling at the images of the boy he fell in love with- the one he could still recognize even with the toothy grin and big blue eyes not yet tainted by teenage angst. . 

“Aw shit,” he said as he pulled out my fifth grade photo, “he went through a gnarly awkward phase didn’t he?” 

“You both are so terrible to each other!” My mother scolded, but Reno just shrugged and continued until he came across a picture that startled him. Claudia leaned over to see what caused his smile to drop. “Eighth grade,” she mused, gently touching the glass with her french manicured nails. “He stopped smiling...and looked just so sad, all the time.”

“Probably when he started figuring out he was gay,” Reno mused, and grabbed a picture of himself to compare. Both of us, pale skin with noticeable frowns. My eyes wilted and flushed with hurt. His...tense. As if he anticipated every horrible thing that would eventually befall him. “Sixth grade,” he told my mom. “Kinda when I started getting the hint. Didn’t really know how to take it, that’s probably what he was feeling.”

“I had no idea,” she sighed, “I should have paid more attention.”

Reno tried to find the words to make her feel better, but they all died in his throat. The truth jogging through his mind was sharp- she should have paid more attention. But he could say, at least, she cared enough to keep the pictures in the first place. To frame them. Come up with a plan on how to display them even if she was a few years late. Even if she didn’t know every sin I committed, he thought, at least she cared enough….

He handed her both frames. “Do whatever you want with them. It’s cool.” 

“Okay…”

A pause. He couldn’t even look at the rest of the photos but a question still weaseled its way into his brain. 

And the pain returned for a moment until my mother, as if she could read the lines of face, said:

“You know...they- or your mom- uhm, just felt it would be better if you had the pictures. Since...they are yours anyway.”

And Reno appreciated her attempt to alleviate the pressure from the knives in his chest. 

But they both knew...the lies didn’t help when the truth was spread across the table.

Stil, he accepted the hug from her. Smelled the floral perfume in her hair and tried to exhale all his dark thoughts. “ _ I’m happy you’re here,” _ she whispered in his ear. And that was the truth. 

Reno finally took his leave from the kitchen, leaving my mother to her 80’s music and the evidence of his past. The light coming from under my door and the twang of an acoustic guitar beckoned him to my room. I laid on my bed with the guitar resting over my body as I strummed the tune playing through my headphones while staring at the T.V- because I only felt at ease with six things happening at once. 

A soft  _ yo _ managed to leak through the blasting guitars and drew all my attention onto him. He leaned against the frame of the door, in a disheveled black uniform, with exhaustion jetting through his eyes. 

“I thought you were gonna go to the movies?” he questioned.

“Meh.”

He sighed, “you know you can go to the movies without me, babe.”

“Yeah, I know” I grumbled at the accusatory tone in his voice, “but it became a triple date thing when Aerith invited Tseng. Then Tifa invited Rude, so…”

“Ugh. That sounds terrible.”

“Right! And I even called Cid, but he and Barret are going on a double date.”

“Oooh,” Reno sang with a smirk. “They actually have a date for once?”

“Yeah, with sisters!”

“Nice, good for them. They deserve it.”

We exchanged a tense laugh; skirting the real issue hanging over our heads. 

“So, the options are two couples who constantly fight, or the two dudes trying to get it in?”

“ _ And _ I even hit up Vinny.”

“Ugh, speaking of terrible couples.”

“Yeah, Yuffie is over so that’s out the window.”

“Doesn’t she live there?”

“Apparently.” I shrugged- not like we could talk. And Reno seemed to silently agree with a slight nod. We allowed a couple of seconds pass uninterrupted. I watched the slight rise and fall of his chest through the unbutton top. How his eyes remained on the floor, but I could still somehow tell he drifted away, once again. He seemed to retreat into himself at times. And I can see the way time moves so slowly as the gears turn in his head. And I’d imagine it felt like being suspended in midair- the deafening moan of the atmosphere suffocating his head. Until he finds another empty space on the shelf in the back of his mind to rest all his worries.

And Reno snapped back into the conversation. “So...wanna smoke at the beach. Then go to 7/11 or somethin’?”

I smiled at the faded grin which formed across his face. “See me in  _ Halo _ after?”

“Fuck yourself,” he winked and I can’t help to laugh when I feel the burn in my cheeks. “Roll the blunt- lemme eat and get changed.”

He turned to leave, but the words I held in my chest suddenly spilled from my lips. “Hey...those pictures.”

Reno froze. 

Staring into the hallway. And without looking back to me, “What about them?”

The vacancy of his voice sucked the air from the room like a vacuum. 

A wave of guilt; I felt I just tapped a hornets nest. I avoided the lingering questions burned into my brain. And just said simply, “I would...love to know about  _ that _ Reno one day.” 

And his shoulders relaxed with the most disappointed sigh. A few beats passed and he finally faced me. 

And with a blank narrowed gaze and empty voice: “I would love to tell you all about that kid down there, but he died a year and a half ago and I don’t even remember him.” 

He waited for my response but I only managed a quiet nod before he left for his bedroom. His admissions tasted like frost. Left me cold as I flicked my guitar strings. One by one by one. Torn with both guilt and concern, all I wanted was to show him...tell him...that he could come to me with all his hurt. Return the favor he always offered me; a place to break down enclosed in the safety of his arms. But Reno would never tell me when he needed that release. 

Instead, he suffered alone for so long. 

In that one sentence, Reno reopened a wound he thought closed. While I shook off my own worry and started getting ready, he went into the room he occupied in a stranger’s home, he ripped off the button down shirt and white tank underneath like the burned at his skin. Threw some cold water on his face to wake himself from that suffocating sensation. He cursed himself. Pushed that feeling down like it could be molded into a tiny pebble and cease to exist. 

He tried to forget the pictures on the table and all their implications. Rationalized, he already expected this behavior from his birth givers, why would it...bother him. He tried to focus on the lamented papers and all the hope they offered. A way out, finally, from the hell this Island brought him. There they rested on the container of food his boyfriend’s mother made sure to get him; and he forced away the memories of all the days he came home to an empty house with no food. 

He left the bathroom with murmurs of phrases he used when he needed to leave the current situation; like he was trying to dissociate. 

Then, he caught himself in the reflection of the sliding glass door as he tried to put himself back together. The sunken eyes were familiar. The permanent frown; he forgot the last time he gave anyone a real smile. Most of the bruises, which once peppered along his skin, had faded a long time ago. The scar on his arm from the surgeries blended into his muscles. The welts on his chest ceased to exist. And then his eyes rested on muted scars which climbed up the right side of his stomach. Those would never go away…. And Without thinking, he walked his fingers up them. 

Reno still heard the  _ hiss _ .

And smelled the burn of flesh.

And he thought he would feel the pain. Awaken another shelved memory. 

But he didn’t. 

Instead he remembered the first time we made love. And how I didn’t even flinch when I saw them on his body. How I ran my own fingers along them; like I was trying to cure him from the poison they represented. And how I gave him a moment to crumble in my arms...and never looked at him like he was any less of a man. 

And that was the first time he didn’t feel like a broken boy. 

Or someone he needed to be ashamed of. Even if the house across the way, with their dark windows flushed with silent judgments, disagreed. 

He no longer needed to care about their opinions. The people who occupied this bright, welcoming, home seemed to like him just the way he was- wounds and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My husband named this chapter after I gave him a summary, so shout out to him!


End file.
